Tick the Season
by sweetie buttons
Summary: [By request] Michelle Webster doesn't have much Christmas spirit. Mostly due to her brother Tommy's habit of ruining the holiday, as well as everything. After her most recent ruined Christmas, her father gets a cuckoo clock. When she messes with it to get Tommy in trouble, she goes back in time near her previous Christmases. Can she stop the curse and recover her Christmas spirit?
1. Chapter 1

Fifteen-year-old Michelle Webster stood in front of the mirror in her room, applying blush to her cheeks. Once she thought it was enough, she put the brush down to observe her reflection.

She had brushed her brown hair as neatly as she could and tied it into a bun held in place by a blue butterfly clip. She had applied some blue eyeliner to her eyes, and just a bit of nude lipstick. She would've done more, but she knew her parents would've given her a hard time and made her wash the makeup off. They always teased her for being so vain, but she didn't think she was. Was it a crime to want to look good when going out in public, especially during Christmas?

She looked down at her ruffled red dress. It was one of her favorites, and one she only wore on special occasions. She also wore her favorite silver earrings and a silver necklace with a blue pendant.

"Michelle, hurry up!" she heard her mother call from downstairs. "We're leaving in five minutes!"

"Coming!" she called back. She grabbed her small handbag, double checking to make sure she had everything, and raced down the stairs. Despite being happy with her appearance, she couldn't stop the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach. She tended to dress up even more nicely than usual when she felt nervous about going out somewhere. She didn't know why. It just made her feel more confident.

The reason for her nervousness was partly that she wasn't the biggest fan of Christmas. She was no Scrooge, but she wasn't the type to go caroling and baking cookies either. It wasn't really dislike of the holiday itself, but rather the people who would be attending the Christmas party. Or rather, person.

That person being her brother, Tommy.

Or Tommy the Terror, as she called him. Tommy was eight, seven years younger than her, and the biggest menace in history. She was sure most older sisters said that about their younger brothers, but she really meant it. He had spent the last seven years of her life making her miserable. Too bad she couldn't remember the first seven. They must've been amazing.

And he had a track record for ruining Christmas.

Actually, he had a track record for ruining everything, so Christmas was nothing special. But it stood out to her because she remembered loving the holiday, once. She had always gotten up extra early on Christmas day, hummed carols all day long, and eagerly opened the presents. But that was before Tommy had come into the picture and ruined everything.

As she raced down the stairs, she checked to see if she had her phone, before remembering that she had lost it a month ago. She'd been asking her parents for a new one, but they'd always said they couldn't afford it and it was her fault for not being more responsible with it.

Her mother frowned disapprovingly as she came down the stairs. "Oh, Michelle, is that really necessary? I really wish you wouldn't wear so much of that makeup and jewelry. It's not natural for a girl your age."

Michelle thought this was an exaggeration. It wasn't like she had caked her entire face in makeup or used half her jewelry collection. But before she could protest, her mother added, "But I suppose it'll do. Come on, we're going to be late."

As they hurried out, Michelle's father and brother were already in the car. If Michelle was overdressed, Tommy was a caveman—at least, by Michelle standards. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled white shirt with some kind of stain—small enough to be unnoticeable to most people, but it made Michelle cringe at the thought of going out in—and his usual denim shorts. At their mother's insistence, he had brushed his usually messy hair to look slightly presentable.

As her mother piled into the front seat next to her father, Michelle had no choice but to sit next to Tommy in the back.

He looked up from his magazine to look at her. "Who's this girl? She looks like she just came from a fashion show or something."

Before Michelle could bite her tongue, she snapped, "Better than looking like I just crawled out of bed."

She could practically see her mother frowning in the front seat. "Michelle, please. Don't be mean to your brother."

Her jaw dropped. "What? He's the one who—"

"You're the older sibling. You should know not to let childish insults get to you."

"Yeah, _Michelle_," Tommy said, sticking her tongue out at her.

Michelle took a deep breath, like she always did when she was around Tommy. She was usually a pretty patient person, but Tommy was the only one who could test her patience. Well, him and her parents

She didn't even look like the rest of her family. She was tall and skinny, with stringy light brown hair and brown eyes, and Tommy was short and chubby, with thick, even lighter brown hair that was almost blonde. Her parents were short as well, her dad more muscled and her mom more slim, both with hair a similar color and thickness as Tommy's.

The Christmas party was at Michelle's friend's Talia's place. She had invited a lot of people from school. As they reached her house, the Webster family piled out of the car, grabbed the big shopping bag with presents Michelle had gotten for her friends along with another similar-looking bag—no doubt presents for Michelle and Tommy—and headed up the front steps. Mr. Webster rang the doorbell under the wreath and Christmas lights decorating the door.

It was opened a minute later by a brown-haired woman who Michelle recognized as Talia's mother. She looked directly at Michelle. "Oh, hi! You must be Talia's friend Michelle. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home."

As they stepped into the house, the smell of gingerbread cookies filled Michelle's nostrils and music from a Christmas song reached her ears. She took the bag with her presents from her parents and walked further into the house.

Talia's family always went all out for Christmas. Just in the living room, they had a huge silver Christmas tree with neatly wrapped presents underneath, holly and wreaths hanging from the green-and-red lined wallpaper, and a coffee table with snacks and a radio playing the Christmas song laid out on the green holly-outlined napkin, with a Christmas movie playing on TV. Kids from Michelle's school were sprawled on the couch and Santa rug, helping themselves to food and watching the movie.

Upon seeing Michelle, Talia stood up from the couch and wrapped her in a hug. She was wearing a green dress with reindeers and sleigh bells patterned on it, a green streak dyed in her light brown hair and a halo of mistletoe on top of her head. "Shel! I'm so glad you made it."

"Why wouldn't I?" Michelle joked, returning the hug. After releasing her friend, she said, "Nice to see you haven't lost your Christmas spirit." She knew how crazy Talia and her family were about Christmas.

"Just make yourself comfortable. Help yourself to everything. I bought presents for you, I'll show you later."

Michelle nodded. Talia was insistent on opening the presents herself and then giving them to everyone. One of her Christmas traditions. "Great, thanks."

"Did you bring presents for me?" Michelle cringed. She had forgotten Tommy was there.

Talia turned her attention to Tommy, kneeling down to his eye level. "Of course I did."

"Where?" he asked eagerly.

"Under the tree. Just look through it until you find ones with your name."

Tommy nodded, before practically diving under the tree and wasting no time scourging through the presents.

"So he gets to open them himself, and I don't?" Michelle griped, crossing her arms.

Talia giggled. "Michelle, don't be mean. He's just a little kid, of course he's excited."

"I gue—" Michelle trailed off as she saw another boy enter the room. It was Jeffrey Turner, the most attractive boy at school—at least, according to her. He had done something to his dark blond hair so that it looked even better than usual. She felt her cheeks heat up. She didn't know he was going to be here!

Talia giggled again, aware of her friend's crush. She leaned towards her to whisper in her ear. "Just play it cool."

Jeffrey carried a bag with presents and was giving some of them to his friends. Michelle tried not to look at him and focused on the movie. She cringed as she heard Tommy talking close to her, but tried to ignore him. She yelped as she felt something wet on her dress.

She looked away from the movie to see Tommy holding a now empty cup of apple juice. "Oops."

She looked down at her dress. It now had a large, damp spot staining it. And it had been one of her favorites…

"Tommy!" she groaned.

"It was an accident!" he insisted, not sounding very remorseful.

Michelle took a deep breath. The party was still beginning. She wouldn't let this one thing ruin it for her. She took napkins from her handbag, which she had packed just in case—living with Tommy, you knew to be prepared—and tried her hardest to wipe the stain off, with little success. There wasn't much she could do to cover it, so she just kept wiping and returned her attention to the movie. She was just getting invested in it when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Hey, Michelle."

She jumped, forcing her heart rate to calm, and turned to Jeffrey. "H-hey, Jeffrey."

"I got you something," he said, taking the last present from the bag. It was flat and square, wrapped in silver and green wrapping.

"Th-thanks," she replied, taking it with fumbling hands. "You shouldn't have." She carefully unwrapped it, revealing a tape with songs from her favorite band.

When she didn't respond immediately, Jeffrey awkwardly said, "I didn't know what you'd like. I mean, I heard you say you liked this music once—"

"I love it," she interrupted. "It's great. Thank you." She suddenly felt awkward. "Sorry I didn't get you anything. I would've, but I didn't know you were coming—"

"It's fine." He waved it off. "I got lots of presents from my friends."

At that point, Tommy had turned his attention away from his presents to focus on the interaction. He walked over to Michelle, staring at the tape in her hand. "What did your boyfriend get you?"

Talia laughed while Jeffrey looked uncomfortable. "Uh…"

"He-he's not my boyfriend," Michelle managed to say, blushing.

Tommy feigned surprise. "Really? I thought he was, from the way you talk about him. You're always like 'ooh, Jeffrey! I love you soooo much!'"

Talia laughed again while Jeffrey looked down at the floor, clearly uncomfortable. Michelle felt her cheeks heating up from both embarrassment and anger. What could she say? She couldn't deny it or Tommy would just keep talking about how much she loved him, but it would be too embarrassing to admit it.

Noticing her friend's discomfort, Talia said, "Hey, Michelle. I think it's about time to unwrap the presents. Why don't you go first?"

Thankful for the subject change, Michelle nodded, heading towards the tree while Talia announced that to everyone, who promptly turned their attention away from the food and movie.

Talia stopped. "Woah. What happened to your dress?"

"Tommy…" She stopped. What was the point of dwelling on it?

Talia giggled. "Little kids are so cute, don't you think?"

_Cute?_

Before she could reply, Talia bent down, finding a large, lumpy present with Michelle's name written on the tag in looping cursive. She slowly and carefully unwrapped it. Michelle tried to guess what it was. When she had fully unwrapped it, it was revealed to be a boxed _Harry Potter_ collection.

"Thank you!" Michelle exclaimed. She was a big fan of the books, as Talia knew. She had copies at home, but they were battered, drawn on and torn up, thanks to someone. Even though she hated books, or items in general, that messy, she liked the series enough to read them. Still, this pristine, shiny collection, in immaculate condition, was a welcome change.

Tommy turned away from playing with his present—a set of _Hot Wheels_—to observe Michelle's. "What are those books, Shel?"

Michelle knew better than to respond, but Tommy came closer to observe the box.

"Cool!" he said. "I heard my friends at school talking about those books. Can I have a look?"

"No—" Before Michelle could say more, Tommy had grabbed the box from her hands and taken the first book out. Before she could stop him, he opened it and started thumbing through it.

Michelle grabbed the book from his hands, but it was too late—the pages were smeared with brown smudges. Tommy's hands were dirty from the Christmas cake.

"Tommy!" she groaned, showing him the book. "Look what you did!"

He shrugged, not looking too remorseful. "I just wanted to have a look. You never show me your books at home."

"Because you ruin every one you get your hands on!" Michelle took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. It was just one book. There was still a lot of the party left. She wouldn't let Tommy ruin Christmas for her.

"Nevermind," she muttered, taking napkins from her handbag to wipe the pages. When she wiped them along the chocolate smears, it just spread them further along the page. She sighed, closing the book and placing it carefully back in the box. She'd just have to clean it when she got home.

"I got you something too," she told Talia, who had just finished unwrapping someone else's present for them. She turned to Michelle upon hearing her voice. Michelle put down the bag and reached inside to take out the present with Talia's name.

She looked at the flat, round object thinly wrapped in pink paper. "Gee, I'll _never_ guess what's in here."

"But you'll still like it, right?" asked Michelle. They both liked the same band.

Michelle looked into the bag. She only had two other presents for two other friends—Max and Lola. She knew she had to wait for Talia to open their presents for them first.

In the meantime, she wandered over to the coffee table to help herself to the food. She placed a slice of Christmas cake on a paper plate, as well as filling a paper cup with cider. She turned to head back near the Christmas tree, looking around the room for Max and Lola. She found them sprawled on the rug again, having returned their attention to the movie since Talia was so busy unwrapping everyone else's presents.

She had just caught sight of them when she felt herself trip, giving a little squeal as she stumbled over something in her path and went sprawling onto the carpet, trying in vain to catch the food before doing so.

This caused several guests to stop what they were doing to stare at her. She heard a few of them laugh. "Oh my gosh! Michelle, you okay?" asked Talia, helping her to her feet.

Michelle dusted herself off, before seeing that Tommy was the thing—or rather, person—she had tripped over. He was sprawled in front of her, playing with his toy cars and making them go '_vrrm vrrm'_.

"Tommy!" she groaned. "You tripped me!"

He looked up, just seeming to notice her. "It was an accident!"

"Bull—yeah right it was!" she amended quickly.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," he suggested nonchalantly, before returning his attention to his cars.

Again, Michelle forced herself to take a deep breath. She found herself doing that a lot when Tommy was concerned. There was still plenty of food to eat.

She turned to Talia. "I'm so sorry about the mess. I'll clean it up—" She was already looking in her handbag for napkins.

Talia held up her hand. "No need. You're the guest, right?"

Michelle picked up the paper plate and cup. "Uh, where's the bin?" At that point, most of the guests had returned to what they were doing.

"The kitchen," said Talia. "Don't worry, I'll clean up the rest." She headed to the coffee table to get napkins from there.

"If you say so. Thanks." She exited the living room, a bit happy to get away from the bustling and noise, and turned the corner to the kitchen. Even that area was extravagantly decorated, with red and green streamers hanging from the ceiling and Christmas-themed magnets and photos stuck on the fridge.

She was surprised to see her parents there. They were talking quietly amongst each other, but turned upon hearing Michelle enter. "Hey, Shel," greeted Mr. Webster. "Enjoying the party?"

"Uh, yeah…mostly." She couldn't tell them the truth, or they'd just reprimand her for being too hard on Tommy.

"That's good. Listen, I think it's time for us to show you and Tommy your presents."

Michelle perked up. Maybe more presents would make her feel better. "Sounds good. I'll just give the rest of my presents to my friends first."

She was about to turn around when her mother spoke up. "What happened to your dress? Oh, Michelle, you didn't spill something on it, did you?"

"_I_ didn't!" she insisted. "Tommy did."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure it was an accident."

She sighed, expecting no less of a response from her mother. She dumped her rubbish in the bin next to the fridge before returning to the living room.

She gave her presents to Max and Lola and placed their present for her in the now empty shopping bag—a jacket she had been admiring for a while that they had used their combined pocket money to buy for her. With a sigh, she walked over to Tommy to tell him their parents had presents for them.

He looked up from his cars. "Hey, Shel. What presents did you get?"

"Just—" Before she could answer, he peered into the bag and took out the jacket. "Whoa, cool!" It was a navy blue jacket with fancy grey patterns stitched on. She tried fitting one of his tiny arms into it, but she snatched it from him before he could.

"Just let me try it on," he pleaded. "Just for a little while. I won't break it, I promise."

"No! Get your own jacket. This one's mine." She clutched it protectively against her chest. _No way_ was she letting Tommy ruin another present.

Not to be outdone, Tommy snatched a sleeve from her and tugged with all his might. Michelle clutched it tighter against her chest with one hand and used the other to grip the sleeve Tommy was pulling even tighter.

After a few moments, she felt Tommy let go of it and thought he had finally given up.

"Oops." That word filled her with dread. She looked up to see him sheepishly holding a chunk of the sleeve.

She couldn't help it. She let out an exasperated scream. To hell with taking deep breaths. How much was she supposed to take in one day? Tommy had embarrassed her in front of her crush, messed up her book, tripped her, _and _torn her jacket.

Just then, her father walked in. "Hey Shel, are you ready for—"

He stopped at the sight of Michelle looking furious. "What's wrong?"

"Look what Tommy did to my new jacket!" Her father just looked confused, so she walked over to him and showed him the sleeve.

"It was an accident!" Tommy insisted, pouting. "She wouldn't let me try her jacket on. I just wanted to have a look."

"Michelle, it's just a small tear. I couldn't even see it until you pointed it out. I'm sure Tommy's just excited because it's Christmas. Cut him some slack, okay?"

_Cut him some slack? _That was all she had been doing throughout the entire party! She opened her mouth to protest, but then Mr. Webster added, "I was going to tell you, I think it's time to show you and Tommy your presents."

"Cool! Presents!" said Tommy, getting to his feet and clasping his hands together with excitement.

Michelle forced herself to take deep breaths again. In a way, her father was right: it _was_ just a small tear. Most people wouldn't see it unless they were up close. And the mention of presents had cheered her up a little.

She and her brother followed their father out of the living room. They headed to the guest room in the house, where her mother was sitting on the red-and-green striped mattress that replaced the usual one, the big bag with their presents on the floor beside her. She smiled at Michelle and Tommy.

"There you two are! We got you presents."

"Yay! Presents!" Tommy ran over to the bag, only to be stopped by their mother. "Wait, Tommy. I think I should show Michelle her present first." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, flat one neatly wrapped.

Once she opened it, it revealed a shiny, brand new phone. Michelle practically squealed with delight. She couldn't remember how long she had been begging her parents for one, only for them to say no.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She ran up to her mother and gave her a hug.

Mrs. Webster hugged her back. "Glad you like it, dear."

Michelle pulled back from the hug. "What about the rest of my presents?"

"Oh, sorry, dear. We didn't get you any others."

"Oh…" Michelle couldn't say she was too disappointed. She had already received several presents from her friends, so it'd just be selfish to complain about not having more. "That's fine. Thank you so much for the phone!"

At this point, Tommy was already rummaging through the bag for his own presents. "Woah, cool!" He wasted no time ripping off the wrapping of action figures, more toy cars, a Lego collection, Play-Doh, and several more. It was at least twice as much as all of Michelle's presents. But Michelle wasn't paying much attention. Instead, she was clutching her camera as if it were a newborn child, in order to ensure Tommy didn't lay one finger on it.

"Michelle, could you take a picture of us?" asked Mrs. Webster. "It'd be great to remember this Christmas."

Michelle hesitated. "Well…"

"Oh, go on, Shel," urged Mr. Webster. "What's the harm? Everyone, say cheese!"

Michelle conceded. There was no real reason not to, except for the worry that Tommy would somehow mess up the photo just by being in it.

"Hi-ya!" Tommy was playing with his new toy lightsaber. "I'm the Jedi!" He swung it precariously close to Michelle, causing her to drop the phone onto the edge of the bed in surprise.

"Tommy, be careful with that," she scolded. "You could damage something."

"Oh, Michelle, give it a rest," urged Mrs. Webster. "He's just having fun."

"Everybody smile!" said Mr. Webster, putting his arms around his wife and son.

Michelle opened the camera app and held the phone up. Tommy was still holding his lightsaber, doing a pose. She quickly took the photo before he could do anything.

"Let me see!" said Tommy, running toward her. "Did I look cool enough?"

"No, Tommy—"

"Let him take a look," urged Mrs. Webster. "Honestly, Michelle, what's the harm in letting him see the picture?"

Michelle had no choice but to reluctantly let Tommy take the phone from her. As soon as he laid eyes on the picture, she tried to snatch it from him. "Alright, you've seen it—"

"How come I don't have a phone?" pouted Tommy, holding the phone out of her reach.

"I'm sorry, dear, but you're too young," said Mrs. Webster. "Once you're Michelle's age, then you can have one."

"I want to take pictures!" declared Tommy.

"Well, I don't see the harm in that," said Mrs. Webster. "Michelle, why don't you teach your brother how to take a picture?"

"No. I already showed him one, isn't that enough?"

Mrs. Webster frowned. "Michelle, why are you always so unfair to your brother? If he wants to learn how to take pictures, it could be a great bonding experience for you."

Yeah, right. A great bonding experience for herself and frustration, maybe.

Michelle let out a long-suffering sigh, taking the phone from Tommy's hands. "Okay, so you just hold it up, like this." She held the phone up to her parents. "Then you press this button, see?" She pressed it for another photo.

"Let me try!" said Tommy, trying to take the phone from her.

"No. I already taught you—"

"What's the point of teaching him if you won't let him try?" asked Mrs. Webster. "Come on, Michelle. Just one photo."

Tommy snatched the phone from her. "I want to take a picture of the party." Before Michelle could stop him, he raced to the living room, Michelle following.

Tommy ran to the other end of the living room before Michelle could reach him. "Everyone say cheese!" He raised the phone, then snapped a picture, surprising most of the guests.

He lowered the phone to take a look at the picture. Then he said, "Hey, Shel. Catch!"

Taken aback, Michelle made a clumsy grab for the phone as Tommy threw it towards her—too late. As if in slow motion, it crashed into the wall.

Michelle bent down to pick it up, her heart in her throat. The front of it had a crack down the middle. When she tried turning it on, she found that she could, but when she tried using it, it worked a lot slower than before.

This was it. This was the last straw. She could handle no more. No amount of deep breaths would fix this. Everything else, she could ignore, but not this.

The phone still in her hand, she let out another exasperated scream and charged towards Tommy, like a bull that had seen red. The guests stopped what they were doing to watch.

"MOOOOOM!" Tommy screamed as if he was being murdered—which, in a moment, he was about to be. "Michelle's chasing me!"

Michelle stopped, knowing her parents would've heard, but didn't soften her venomous glare towards Tommy. When Mrs. Webster came in, she had no confusion who Michelle's fury was directed towards.

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Webster, heading over to Tommy to check if he was alright.

He faked a few sniffles, looking at Michelle with fear. "Michelle was chasing after me."

"Look what he did to my phone!" said Michelle, showing her mother the crack.

Confident that Tommy was fine, Mrs. Webster turned to Michelle. She frowned upon seeing the phone. "Michelle, are you serious? You frightened your brother so much over _that_? I'm very disappointed in you."

"But… but… look what he did…!"

"Honestly, Michelle. It's just a little crack. You can be so dramatic sometimes. We'll discuss this later." She pulled Tommy into a hug and stood up with him in his arms, before heading out of the living room, likely because she didn't want to make more of scene in front of everyone.

Michelle looked at her phone again. In all fairness, the crack _was_ fairly small. But still. She had been longing for the phone for so long, and had even gone to the courtesy of letting Tommy a picture—not that she had much of a choice—and he had damaged it as soon as he got his hands on it. She felt tears prickle behind her eyes, but blinked fiercely. She wasn't going to cry. At least, not in front of everyone.

She hurried out of the room, thankful that the guests were easily distracted by the presents and food, and returned to the guest room where her mother was talking to her father, still holding Tommy who was faking a few tears.

Mrs. Webster frowned at her when she came in. "Michelle, I expected better of you. You scared your brother half to death, charging at him like that. He can't help it if he's excited because it's Christmas."

"He scared _me _half to death throwing my phone across the room!" She felt her bitterness and spite take over as she talked. "You gave him loads of presents, and he still had to ruin the _only_ one you gave me."

"Michelle, that's not fair," her father spoke up suddenly. "You're older than Tommy, so of course he'd care more about Christmas than you. I really expected you to be more mature than this. You're acting like _you're_ the eight-year-old instead of him. You always act so immature when your brother is concerned."

Immature? Tommy had spent the entire party trying to ruin Christmas for her, with her trying her hardest to be patient and ignore him, and _she_ was the immature one?

"Tommy's been ruining the party ever since I walked in!" Michelle declared. "He embarrassed me in front of Jeffrey, ruined all my presents, _and_ tripped me over!"

"Michelle, he's just a little boy," her mother scolded. "And he's excited because it's Christmas. Remember, Christmas is for everyone, not just for you. Surely you can cut him some slack."

"No, I won't!" Michelle felt like screaming. "That's all I've been doing! I've been cutting him slack through the entire party, trying to ignore everything he did, but he hasn't cut _me_ any slack!"

_Her parents exchanged glances. "Maybe it's time we go home," her mother suggested. "It's nearing the end of the party, anyway."_

_Tommy pouted, apparently over his fright. "But I want to stay more!"_

_"Sorry, sweetie, but I don't think we can stay if your sister is going to behave like this," Mrs. Webster said, giving Michelle a dirty look._

_"She ruined Christmas!" Tommy declared. "She's such a Grinch."_

_Her parents neither agreed with Tommy or defended Michelle, just started packing up Tommy's presents to go home._

_Yeah. __She__ was the one who had ruined Christmas._


	2. Chapter 2

It was three days later. Michelle and Tommy were in the living room, staring at the large, ornate cuckoo clock their father had bought. He'd bene admiring it for a while, but had never had enough money to buy it until now.

"There was a discount," he had explained. "I think because it's so close after Christmas. Lots of shops have discounts then."

"Do we really need to put it here?" their mother asked, staring at it with distaste. "It looks so out of place."

"Don't be ridiculous, Sharon. It looks just right. I always thought that part of the living room was too bare."

He saw Michelle and Tommy staring and grew stern. "Listen carefully, you two. You are not to touch the clock. It's very old and valuable, and I don't want you messing with it."

"Yeah, _Michelle_," said Tommy, sticking his tongue out at her. She responded by kicking him in the leg.

"Michelle, don't kick your brother," scolded Mrs. Webster. "He's much smaller than you. You could really hurt him."

"That goes for both of you," said Mr. Webster sternly. "Understood?"

"Yes, Dad," echoed Michelle and Tommy.

Their father's voice took on a more lighthearted tone. "You know, there's a rumor that the clock has a curse on it."

"What kind of curse?" asked Michelle, slightly intrigued.

"A Christmas curse. I can't remember exactly what it's about, but it has something to do with messing with it causing the curse to activate. And it only happens in the month of December."

"Like now!" said Tommy

"So that's even more of a reason not to touch it."

"Only a _moron_ would believe that," declared Tommy derisively. "A moron like Michelle."

"Herman, I wish you wouldn't tell the kids these crazy, wild stories," said Mrs. Webster disapprovingly. "It just encourages their imagination. Especially Michelle. She's always exaggerating, making a bigger deal of things than they are."

Michelle's jaw dropped open. "Me? But–"

"Michelle, please. I know Tommy can annoy you, but he's just a little boy. He can't help it. If you were more patient and spent more time with him, you might find yourself liking him."

Tommy stuck his tongue out at her again.

Mr. Webster checked his watch. "It's about time for dinner."

As they headed to the den, Tommy stomped on Michelle's foot. "Ouch!" she yelped.

Mr. Webster turned around. "What's wrong?"

"Tommy stomped on my foot."

"Oh, is that all? He couldn't have hurt you much. He's much smaller than you are."

When they were settled at the table, Michelle poked her food around on her plate, making no attempt to eat it.. It was some kind of salad. One of those super healthy ones her mom was so fond of, with 90% lettuce and 10% vegetables, and not a drizzle of dreasing. Their mother was a total health freak. She'd been trying to encourage the trest of the family to be as well, and they had begrudgingly agreed to try eating like her for a week.

Michelle wasn't against the idea of nutrition, but there was healthy eating and then there was whatever this salad was. She couldn't wait until the week was over. Evidently, neither could her father or brother.

"You know, dear," said Mr. Webster, "this salad's fine, but it'd taste really good with some dressing.

Mrs. Webster shook her head. "Don't you know dressing is the unhealthiest part of the salad? Lots of salads would be much less healthy with it."

"Michelle could use a diet, if you ask me," said Tommy, making a face at her.

"Shut up," snapped Michelle.

"Michelle, don't say things like that at the table," scolded Mrs. Webster. "Especially not in response to such childish insults. You should be mature enough to ignore them."

After dinner was over (which Michelle may or may not have dumped the majority of in the bin when her mother's back was turned), their parents headed for their bedroom while Tommy headed to the living room. He stopped in front of the clock, inspecting it.

"Tommy, what are you doing?" asked Michelle, following him. "You know you're not allowed to touch the clock."

"I'm not going to. I'm just looking at it." He stepped closer. "Where's the bird, anyway? I heard all cuckoo clocks are supposed to have one." He reached upwards and started fumbling with the bulbs.

"Tommy, no–" Before Michelle could say more, a hideous yellow bird popped out of the little doors, squawking, before going back in. Michelle jumped backwards and yelped in surprise while Tommy giggled.

They heard footsteps as their father ran to the living room, alerted by the bird's noise. He stared at the clock. "What happened?" He sternly surveyed the two siblings. "It's not supposed to go off at this hour, is it?"

"Tommy was playing with it," Michelle accused suddenly. She knew it was childish, but she didn't want to get in trouble, even though she likely knew accusing him wouldn't work.

To her surprise, her father turned his stern gaze to Tommy. "Is that true?"

Michelle knew that usually Tommy would've lied, but their father looked so stern that it must've intimidated him into telling the truth. "Well, yeah... but only a little! I just wanted to see how it worked."

Mr. Webster bent down to his level. "Listen, young man. That clock is not a toy. It's expensive and valuable, and if I catch you touching it again, there _will_ be trouble. Understood?"

Tommy looked too surprised to reply for a few seconds. His parents rarely scolded him for anything. "Yes, Dad."

_Wow_, thought Michelle. _Dad must _really_ love the clock to scold darling Tommy for touching it._

Suddenly, an idea crawled into her mind...


	3. Chapter 3

One of the reasons why Michelle liked Harry Potter was because she could relate to Harry's situation. Harry was also the outcast in his family, overshadowed by his cousin who his aunt and uncle clearly liked more. She wouldn't go so far as to compare her parents to the Dursleys, or even Tommy to Dudley, but still.

She lay on her bed at the moment, rereading the first book with a flashlight under the covers. Her parents thought she had fallen asleep several hours ago. But she had stayed awake, thinking about her little joke.

She had regularly checked the clock in her room to see if it was time. She pushed the covers off herself and shone her flashlight on the clock, squinting to see.

Almost midnight. Almost time.

She bookmarked the page and closed the book, slowly got out of bed, and picked up her flashlight. She wondered if she should take it. On one hand, the light might alert someone, but it'd also be hard to see in the dark. She decided to take it since her parents and Tommy's rooms were quite far away.

She pulled socks onto her feet to muffle the noise of her feet and wondered if she should take anything else. She knew she couldn't waste too much time or she'd miss it, but she always liked to be prepared. She told herself to stop thinking and leave already.

Flashlight in hand, she walked over to the door and cautiously opened it, grateful it didn't creak. She always insisted on keeping it fresh and new, along with everything else in her room (well, mostly, thanks to someone). She slowly walked through the darkness, knowing she couldn't be too slow. She quickened her pace a little and reached the living room.

Shining her flashlight on the clock doors, she suddenly got a bad feeling. An intuition. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, startling her from walking closer. She got feelings like this when she was nervous about something, and most of the time, it was right.

She gave herself a mental shake. No way was she going to let such a brief and minor feeling dissuade her from her plan.

Walking closer, she kept her light fixed on the two brown clock doors. They looked more menacing surrounded by darkness.

_Tick. Tick._

She felt nervousness fill her, like it often did when she wasn't completely prepared about something. But she was completely prepared about this. As prepared as she could be, anyway.

_Tick. Tick._

Would it work? Or would it be over too quickly for her to do anything?

_Tick. Tick._

She shook her head at how dramatic she was being. It wasn't like she was about to execute a murder or bank robbery. No, that kind of stuff was more up Tommy's alley.

_Tick. Tick._

She walked closer, so she could see the entire clock even through the darkness, but left a considerable distance for the bird when it popped out.

_SQUUUUUAWK!_

She jumped backwards in surprise, dropping the flashlight, but managed not to yelp. She was grateful that she had left room between herself and the clock, because the feathery yellow face came to a stop right in front of her own face. Even though she knew it wasn't real, it creeped her out.

She was too startled to react for a moment, but quickly regained her reflexes, reaching out to firmly grasp the head and turn it around, so it was facing the other way. It retreated back into the clock doors shortly after.

Heart racing, Michelle looked around, wondering if her parents would come.

No. They probably expected the cuckoo clock to go off at this hour. It wasn't loud enough to wake them, anyway, no matter how loud it seemed when you were right in front of it.

Michelle couldn't help it. She started giggling softly to herself. Her dad was going to _flip_ when he saw this. No amount of "cute little boy" would save Tommy this time. If he had gotten so stern with him just for touching it, she could only imagine his reaction when the head was in a completely different direction.

So what if, just this one time, Tommy got in trouble for something she did? It'd be a nice change from usual. Now he'd know what it's like to be blamed for something that was someone else's fault. Now he'd know what it was like to be in her shoes.

She was still smiling to herself when she settled into bed and drifted off into a happy, peaceful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Michelle woke up with a smile on her face when she remembered her little joke. She got dressed more cheerfully than she had in a while. She had never been a morning person, but that morning, she was.

She was still humming to herself when she headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stopped in surprise when she noticed the wreaths hanging on the wall. Her mother had always been a bit of a Christmas person, but usually she'd start wrapping up the decorations by now. Maybe she was just feeling particularly festive for some reason.

Afterwards, she headed to the den, still smiling at the thought of the look on her father's face when he saw his precious cuckoo clock was damaged. When she arrived at the den, she stopped short again.

There were wreaths and holly hanging on the walls and miniature Christmas trees on the floor. They hadn't even started packing up the decorations. It looked exactly as it did on the day of the Christmas party.

Her mother smiled as she saw her. "Hi, Shel. Take a seat."

Michelle was surprised again. Her parents weren't usually that friendly to her in the morning. Her confusion increased when she walked to the table and saw what they were having.

Pancakes. Not just that, but drizzled in powdered sugar in maple syrup.

Her mother would have a heart attack looking at those calories, let alone making it, even if it wasn't healthy eating week. She was having a healthier breakfast, of course, but her father and brother were happily guzzling down like they hadn't tasted something so wonderful in ages–which, due to the week, they probably hadn't. Despite her confusion, Michelle had to wince at Tommy's eating habits. He had somehow managed to get maple syrup on his _forehead_.

"Uh, Mom?" she asked as she took a seat. "Why are we having this for breakfast?"

Mrs. Webster frowned at her. "Don't you like pancakes, Michelle?"

"I do," she replied hastily. "But what happened to healthy eating week?"

"Oh, Michelle, do you really think I wouldn't make an exception on Christmas day?"

_Christmas day?_

"I'm surprised you did," quipped Mr. Webster.

She frowned at him. "Do you want pancakes or not?"

"But Christmas day was four days ago," reminded Michelle. "Remember?"

Mrs. Webster frowned at her again. "Are you feeling alright, dear?"

"I think she hit her head or something," quipped Tommy. "Does she have anemia, Mom?"

"I think you mean _amnesia_, dear," corrected Mrs. Webster.

_Wait a minute_. Michelle wracked her brains. Didn't they have pancakes for breakfast on the day of the Christmas party?

"Mom? Are we going anywhere today?"

"Of course we are. Don't you remember? Your friend's Christmas party?"

She almost blurted out that the party was four days ago, but managed to stop herself. It'd look weird if she did. They seemed really convinced it was the day of the Christmas party.

After forcing a bit of pancake into her mouth, she asked, "Dad, how's the cuckoo clock? Is it working alright?" At this point, her excitement had been replaced by confusion, but she still wanted to know if her joke had worked.

But Mr. Webster just looked confused. "What cuckoo clock?"

Before Michelle could answer, he added, "oh! You mean the one I've been after? Surprised you remembered."

"How could she not?" quipped Mrs. Webster. "It's all you can talk about."

Oh, right. They hadn't bought the cuckoo clock until three days later. Michelle was tempted to run to the living room to see if it wasn't there, but decided against it. It'd just look weird.

"Maybe Michelle wants to buy it too," suggested Mr. Webster. "That's why she asked. Right, Michelle?"

Mrs. Webster groaned. "Not her too."

Michelle didn't answer. She forced herself to eat another bite of the pancake, her head spinning. _What was going on?_

She forced herself to eat the rest of her breakfast, though the delicious pancakes did nothing to clear her head. She might as well have been eating the runny eggs her mother was. Even Tommy's kicks under the table didn't have any effect on her.

After breakfast, she ran to the living room. The clock was gone. In its place was a big Christmas tree.

The Christmas tree they had on the day of the party.

Michelle's mind raced. This was impossible. There was no explanation for this. Except...

That she had gone back in time.

Either that, or her family was playing some really elaborate, mean joke on her. But this seemed a little much, even for them.

She almost scoffed at the ridiculous thought, but then cheered up. If she really had gone back in time–which she might not even have, but if she had–she had a second chance at this party. A second chance to make things better. This time, it'd be better.


	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after breakfast, Mrs. Webster announced that it was time to get ready for the Christmas party. Michelle didn't spend as much time on her appearance as she had before, more focused on thinking of ways to improve the party.

She ditched her precious red dress in favor of a more simple, but still nice white one that she usually wore on the weekends. She didn't even bother with her makeup. She did neatly brush her hair, but didn't bother styling it.

She still spent so much time thinking about the party that she almost didn't hear her mother cry, "Michelle, come on! We're going to be late!"

"Coming!" she called, grabbing her handbag–she could do without dressing up fancy, but she couldn't go without being prepared.

As she raced down the stairs, she was surprised by how bare her face felt without makeup, and how messy her hair felt without being styled even into a simple ponytail, even though she knew it was neat. She almost always wore a bit of makeup and did something with her hair before leaving.

Her mother raised an eyebrow as she came down. "I would've thought you'd dress up more."

"I guess I just didn't feel like it," shrugged Michelle.

"Well, it's a nice change. You look so much better without all that horrendous makeup and ridiculous hairstyles."

Michelle thought this was rather unfair. Her mother made it sound like she was some kind of diva who only cared about her appearance. Sure, she spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, but was it a crime to look presentable?

She hurried into the car, sitting next to Tommy. As before, he looked up and made a face at her. "Who's this girl? She looks a bit like Michelle, but she never looked this plain."

Michelle didn't even have to try to restrain from replying. She was too busy thinking of ways to fix the party. It was actually kind of fun. If there's one thing she loved, it was being prepared, and she couldn't be more prepared for the party.

She almost laughed at the irony. She would never have gone to the party in this simple attire a few days ago, and yet she was even more prepared than when she was all dressed up.

They seemed to arrive at the party too quickly. Her parents took the big shopping bags out of the boot of the car, like before. They walked up to the decorated front door of Talia's house and rang the doorbell, like before. Talia's mother answered, like before.

_This is like deja vu to end all cases of deja vu_, thought Michelle.

Tommy walked in, looking around excitedly. As her plan, Michelle quickly said, "Tommy, I'll take you to the living room. I bet the party is there. You don't want to miss anything, do you?"

Mrs. Webster, who overheard, looked surprised. "That's nice of you, Michelle. It's nice to see you're being nicer to your brother."

Michelle had to bite back the flash of anger and bitter retort that rose. Instead, she nodded and led Tommy to the living room. Then, she crouched down to Tommy's height.

"Listen, Tommy. I'll tell you a secret. I think one of the bags Mom and Dad took out of the car had our presents."

Tommy's face lit up. "Really? Where are they?"

"I don't know. If you follow Mom and Dad around, maybe you'll find out."

Tommy nodded. "I'll be a secret agent! They won't even know I'm there!"

Michelle watched Tommy run out of the room. She had to admit, he could be kind of cute when he wasn't being a pest.

Wait. Tommy? Cute? Had she suffered brain trauma as well as time travel?

Talia stood up from the couch and wrapped her in a hug, filling her with yet another pang of serious deja vu. "Shel! I'm so glad you made it."

She didn't reply this time. When Talia let go of her, she said, "Where's your brother?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think he went to look for his presents."

"Well, tell him I got him some," said Talia. "The little guy's so cute."

"Not when you get to know him," griped Michelle.

Talia laughed. "Yeah, most little brothers are like that."

She felt her heart rate quicken as she saw Jeffrey walk in, even though this had already happened. At least this time, Tommy wasn't here to mess things up.

"Play it cool," Talia whispered in her ear.

Seeing he started giving his friends presents, Michelle turned her attention to the movie, allowing herself to relax. He'd give her the present, she'd apologize for not having one for him, and the party would commence.

She turned away once in a while to check if Tommy had returned. If he spilled something on her, it wouldn't be a big deal because she didn't care about this dress as much as her other one, but she still didn't like getting her clothes dirty.

As the movie progressed, she heard a familiar voice at the doorway of the living room. "Michelle!"

She winced. _Tommy. _She should've known. She had only distracted Tommy, not gotten rid of him. No matter. Of course she had backup plans. She wouldn't be Michelle if she didn't.

She forced herself to turn to him as he came up to her. "What's the matter, Tommy? I thought you were looking for presents."

He bit his lip. "I was... but then Mom and Dad just told me to get lost. Well, not exactly. But I think they knew what I was trying to do."

"Talia told me she got you presents too," said Michelle. "Why don't you look for them? They're under the tree."

Tommy's face lit up. "Cool!" He dove towards the presents.

Talia turned as she saw someone under the tree before her tradition, but relaxed when she saw it was only Tommy.

She jumped as she heard Jeffrey's voice behind her. "Hey, Michelle."

She suddenly regretted not dressing up nicer, not doing anything with her hair. "H-hey, Jeffrey." She couldn't prevent the stutter even the second time around.

"I got you something." She accepted the package, thankfully at least managing to sop her hands from shaking.

"Thanks. Sorry I didn't get you anything. I didn't know you were coming–"

"It's fine. I just hope you like it."

She unwrapped it, being careful to feign surprise when she saw the tape. She was thankful she was a good actor. "Thank you! I love that band."

"I didn't know if you'd like it," Jeffrey said awkwardly.

She thanked him again and decided she should get him out of the picture in case Tommy felt like ruining things again. She hoped he was too focused on his presents to do so, unlike last time where he'd been playing for so long he had started to lose interest in them.

She forced herself to think quickly, which wasn't easy when she was talking to Jeffrey. "Hey, Jeffrey. Do you want any food?" It wasn't the best transition, but it would have to do.

He looked surprised by her question. "Kind of. I'm a bit hungry. Why?"

"There's food on the coffee table. I heard Talia's mom makes the best Christmas cake. I've been dying to try it."

"I'll try it, then." He headed towards the table. "Don't you want some?"

"Later. I'm watching the movie right now."

Once he left, she inwardly congratulated herself. Jeffrey was distracted, Tommy was distracted... one crisis averted.

Looking over at Tommy, he seemed invested in his _Hot Wheels_. She decided to quickly give her presents to Max and Lola and then excuse herself to the bathroom for the rest of the party.

She pulled out her presents–a new video game and necklace–and they showed her the jacket. Again, she had to feign surprise and express her gratitude for the second time.

"We didn't know whether to get it. I mean, you have enough clothes as it is," joked Max, like he had before.

Her friends were always teasing her about her obsession with clothes. She privately thought they didn't care enough about them.

Michelle quickly put her jacket in her bag and started to walk back, but stopped just in time when she saw Tommy in the way. He was sprawled in front of her, playing with his toy cars. She carefully walked over him.

"It's time for gifts!" announced Talia.

"I have to go to the bathroom," said Michelle, but she wasn't heard over the excitement that erupted from those words.

She walked over to Talia to announce it, but then stopped. If she left, her Harry Potter books would be in tatters once she returned. Better to stop Tommy from ruining them again. She quickly placed the shopping bag in a different corner of the room so Tommy couldn't find it.

Once it was time for her present to be opened, she quickly took the box. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, trying to sound excited, but not overdo it. She better get an acting Oscar for this.

"Let me see," said Tommy as Talia moved onto the next person, trying to take the box from her.

"No!" She held it above her head, so Tommy couldn't reach. He jumped up and down, but it was too high.

"Where's the rest of your presents, anyway? In there?" He grabbed the handbag hanging from Michelle's arm, tugging. Michelle hesitated. What could she do? If she tried to stop him, she'd have to let go of her books.

Before she could decide, Tommy turned the handbag upside down, causing several items to fall to the floor–including several tampons.

A few guests had turned to watch the exchange, a few laughing and a few having the decency to look away. One of them was Jeffrey, who reddened and glanced in the other direction.

If Michelle could've died at that exact moment, she would have chosen to, without hesitation. Even if it involved killing herself. _Especially_ if it involved killing herself.

Sympathetic to her friend's embarrassment, Talia quickly left the present she was unwrapping and gathered all the items that had fallen back into her handbag. Too embarrassed to thank her, Michelle picked up the bag and rushed out, her boxed collection in the other hand. She ran to the guest room, fully planning on hiding there for the rest of the party, when she saw her parents inside.

Her mother glanced at her, noticing the look on her face. "What's wrong, Shel? Aren't you enjoying the party?"

"I am," she replied, only half lying. "I just thought I could use a breather."

"Probably good that you did," remarked Mr. Webster. "I think it's about time we show you guys your presents. You should tell Tommy."

"Actually, why don't you tell them?" she suggested. "I'm kind of worn out from the party."

Her father nodded and left the room. Her mother turned to her. "Why don't I show you your present?"

"Sure, Mom." Michelle felt tired at the thought of having to act out her surprise and gratitude yet again. She was definitely getting a chance to practice her acting skills.

She watched her mother take the package out of the bag and carefully unwrap it, forcing a smile on her face when she saw what it was. "Oh, thank you, Mom! I've been wanting it for so long." She ran up to her mother and hugged her.

"Glad you like it, dear."

Just then, Mr. Webster and Tommy came in. Her brother's eyes traveled to the phone. "Cool!"

Oh no! She didn't have time to pack it.

"Mom, why can't I have a phone?" whined Tommy.

"When you're older, dear."

"Let me take a look!" He reached for it.

"Maybe later, dear," said Mrs. Webster. "Don't you want to look at your presents first?"

"Yay!" Completely distracted, Tommy reached into his bag and pulled out a present, wasting no time in ripping off the wrapping.

Michelle quickly hid her phone in her handbag, then started to inch towards the door, hoping her parents wouldn't notice. She was planning on hiding it in her present bag.

"Where are you going, Michelle?" Her mother's voice stopped her.

"I just wanted to return to the party," she replied.

Mrs. Webster frowned. "Wouldn't you prefer to see your brother unwrap his presents? It's such a joyful time for him."

_But not for me_, Michelle thought. She realized she had no choice but to stay.

"Why don't you take a picture of him?" Mrs. Webster suggested. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Looking at Tommy unwrapping each presents with joy, a grin lighting up his face each time, Michelle had to admit he _was_ kind of cute.

That was the second time in the span of a day she had thought of her brother as cute. What did the time travel do to her?

However mildly cute he might be, she still didn't like the idea of the first picture in her new phone being of Tommy the Terror. "I don't know."

"Take a picture of all of us, then." Mrs. Webster turned to Tommy. "Tommy, your sister's going to take a picture of us!"

He looked up from his presents. "Can I try the phone?"

"Let her take a picture first, sweetie." Michelle's parents both moved to stand behind Tommy who was sitting in the middle of all his presents. "Say cheese!" said Mr. Webster.

Michelle clicked the camera app and quickly snapped a photo. Tommy ran up to her. "Let me see!"

She held it out of his reach. "No, Tommy–"

"Michelle, please," sighed Mrs. Webster. "What's the harm in letting him look?"

She reluctantly lowered the phone and let him see the picture. "Can I take one? I wanna try!"

"Michelle, go on. Teach him," urged Mr. Webster.

With a sigh, Michelle taught him like before, snapping another picture of her parents. "Now let me try!" He snatched it from her before she could protest, running to the living room. She followed him like before. No way was she going to let this happen again.

He ran to the other end of the room, raising the phone to snap a photo. "Hey, Shel! Catch!" He threw it to her, but this time, she was ready. Her eyes fixed on the phone, she managed to catch it with surprising ease.

Huh. Maybe it _had_ been an accident. If he was purposely trying to break her phone, he would've thrown it further away from her to make it harder to catch.

Well, still. He didn't have to be stupid enough to throw it, and then not even apologize when it broke!

She returned to the guest room, cradling her phone like a newborn baby. She was so excited to catch it, she almost jumped up and down with glee.

Mr. Webster checked his watch. "I think it's about time to leave."

"I wanna stay more!" whined Tommy.

Mr. Webster hesitated. "Alright. But only a little while."

"Yes!" Tommy ran off to the living room, while Tommy followed him, headed to the bathroom instead. Upon entering, she stayed there for the rest of the party, which was quite a long time. She managed to pass time by constructing a story in her head.

After about two hours, she heard a familiar voice. "Sheeeeel!"

She groaned. Tommy.

"Shel?" She heard another voice, her father's. "Where are you? It's time to go!"

"Coming!" she said, exiting the bathroom.

Mr. Webster frowned, the bag with their presents in his arms.. "Were you in there the whole time?"

"Of course not!" she denied.

"I didn't see her," added Tommy.

"Well, it's time to leave," said Mrs. Webster.

Michelle followed her family through the house and out the front doors, where most of the guests were leaving. She saw Talia come up to her.

"Lemme guess, you spent the rest of the party dying in the bathroom?"

"That obvious?"

"Can't say I blame you. If that happened to me..." Talia shuddered, seeming horrified by the thought. "Still, you should've come back to the party. We had a great time, and nobody really cared about what happened. They were over it a minute later."

"I'll take your word for it." Michelle hugged Talia goodbye, then piled into the car with her family.

"Did everyone have a good time?" Mr. Webster asked as he started the engine.

"Yeah!" Tommy replied.

"I did," Michelle replied honestly. Aside from the tampon disaster, she did.

It was only as they were heading out of the driveway that she realized something. She had forgotten her presents! Her Harry Potter collection was in the guest room and her bag was in the living room,

Oh well. Aside from those two things, it was a much better party than before. Maybe when she woke up tomorrow, things would be normal again.


	6. Chapter 6

When Michelle woke up the next morning, she wasn't sure how to feel. Would it be the day after the Christmas party? Would it be the day of the Christmas party again, like some Groundhog Day loop? Would it be the day her father got the cuckoo clock? Or–worst of all–would she go even further back in time?

She got dressed like she usually did. When she stepped out of her room, she glanced around, and saw Christmas decorations on the ceiling.

_No. Not again._

But wait. These ones were a little different. They were red and green streamers, which weren't in the house on the day of the Christmas party.

She knew she had to brush her teeth before making any judgments. She could never think with that dry, sticky taste in her mouth. She arrived at the bathroom and started brushing her teeth, before pausing when she looked in the mirror, the toothbrush still in her mouth.

She looked different, though she couldn't exactly pinpoint how. Same stringy brown hair, same brown eyes, same stubby nose, same thin lips... but something was different. Her facial features were a little different, a little younger. She didn't look exactly fifteen.

She had to meet her family before figuring anything out. After finishing brushing, she cautiously headed to the den where they ate breakfast. Sure enough, it was decorated, though with different decorations than on the day of the Christmas party.

Walking closer to the table, Michelle saw they were having waffles and French toast—at least, her father and brother were. Her brother's waffles were drowned in chocolate syrup and he was eating like a pig, while her mother was eating cornflakes and unsalted eggs on brown toast.

Her mother looked up at her, and Michelle did a double take. Her hair was long. It almost reached her waist, when it was usually shoulder-length. She had cut it about a year ago. This had to be more than one year before when Michelle was fifteen. She couldn't have grown it so quickly.

Looking at the rest of the table, she saw that her father's hair was all frizzy and spiky, when it was usually straight, and her brother looked very different. He was much shorter and more childish-looking.

Trying not to lose her cool, she took a seat at the table. "Uh, Mom?" she asked as she piled French toast onto her plate. "What are we doing today?"

Mrs. Webster looked surprised. "Don't you remember, Michelle? We're going to see The Nutcracker. You were so excited about it."

"Excited?" scoffed Tommy between his waffles. Michelle winced at his uncouthness despite the situation. "That's putting it lightly."

Mr. Webster laughed. "Yeah, you'd think we told her we were going on a vacation to paradise itself."

Michelle remembered. A pageant of The Nutcracker that she had seen when she was thirteen. She was very excited for it, but of course, Tommy had ruined it.

"Do we really have to go?" whined Tommy, stuffing more waffles into his mouth. "It sounds so boring."

Mrs. Webster frowned disapprovingly at him. "Tommy, please. We're doing this for Michelle. We were very lucky to get tickets for this." As an afterthought, she added, "and don't talk with your mouth full."

_Woah._ Michelle was taken aback. Had her mother been replaced by an alien? That was twice she had scolded her brother in the span of thirty seconds.

Her mother's voice softened. "Next year, you can choose what we do for Christmas."

That was more like it.

After breakfast, Michelle retreated to her room, thinking about what was happening. She was going back in time. That was the only explanation. It was a wild, impossible explanation, but she couldn't think of another. What had caused this? Things had been perfectly normal before...

Before messing with the cuckoo clock! She almost slapped herself for not thinking about it earlier. Maybe that story her father had told her about the curse was true. He had mentioned it being some kind of Christmas curse, and she had relived Christmas party and was currently reliving the Christmas pageant. She had to turn the head back the right way around. Maybe that would return everything to normal. It was a wild guess, but it was the only one she could think of.

But how could she access the clock? It was in... Michelle wracked her mind... what was the store her father had mentioned it being from? Anthony's Antiques. That was it. She had to get to the store and turn back the head. But how?

She decided to try taking her mind off it. There was no use worrying about it now. She looked at the shelf in her room, seeing a rather worn collection of Harry Potter books. Reading those always helped her relax.

She picked one up without checking the title and opened it. It was the fourth one, the one she had been up to at that time. Her eyes scanned the words, trying to get invested in the story, but the thought of the cuckoo clock kept sneaking into her mind. She forced herself to block her thoughts out, and slowly started to focus on the story of Frank Bryce instead.

"Shel!" She heard a rapid tapping on the door. She cringed. Tommy. Of course.

She lay the open book upside down on the bed and stood up to lock it, but before she could, Tommy opened it. Oh, right. Her lock was broken at this time. Her father had fixed it about a week later.

His eyes traveled to her book. "What are you reading?" Before she could stop him, he ran towards her bed and picked it up, scanning the page.

"Tommy!" She grabbed it out of her hands. "Stop! It's not a toy." She could barely stand dog earing it, let alone getting the germs of Tommy the Terror all over it.

He pouted at her. "I just wanted to check it out. You never let me look at your books."

Michelle had to admit, six-year-old Tommy did look pretty cute when he was pouting. Great. That was the _third_ time in the span of two days that she had thought of Tommy the Terror as cute. What was happening to her?

She quickly recovered. "Well, you can't!" she snapped. "You'll just ruin them."

He pouted again. "Can you at least tell me what they're about?"

Michelle hesitated. If she humored him, he'd probably leave sooner.

"Alright," she conceded, placing the book back on the shelf. She'd have to find her place later. "As long as you don't touch them."

Tommy looked pleasantly surprised and nodded excitedly, climbing onto her bed.

"It's about a boy who's a wizard," explained Michelle. "His name is Harry Potter. When he's eleven, he gets a letter from a magical school for witches and wizards."

"What's the school's name?" asked Tommy.

"Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Tommy wrinkled his nose. "That's a weird name."

"Don't you know it?" Michelle was a little surprised. Tommy constantly mentioned that his friends at school were always talking about Harry Potter. "The books are everywhere."

"Yeah, but you never let me look at your ones," complained Tommy.

Michelle paused. Straining her memory, she remembered that when Tommy had asked her if he could read the books this day, she had expressly told him no, insisting he'd ruin them. He had asked if she could at least read them to him, or even just describe what they're about, only for her to say no again before kicking him out of her room. He had responded by basically throwing a tantrum and snatching one of the books from her—the fourth one then as well, if she recalled correctly—and tearing it in some places while drawing on it in others.

Okay, so maybe she could've tried sharing with him. She was just very protective of her books, wanting them to remain in as immaculate of a condition as possible, and having little brother germs all over them wasn't very appealing to her. But still. He didn't have to respond by destroying one! It was her property, after all. And of course, her parents had immediately taken his side just because he was younger. Maybe she had been partially at fault, but so had Tommy.

"Michelle?" Tommy's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you gonna tell me more or not?"

Maybe reading the books to him wouldn't be a bad idea. He had destroyed her one because she refused to share, but maybe reading it to him would satisfy his curiosity, at least for a while.

"You know what, Tommy?" She couldn't believe what she was going to say next. "Why don't I read a book to you?"

Tommy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?"

Again, Michelle had to suppress the urge to think of him as cute. "Yeah, really." She grew stern as she headed to the shelf. "But no touching, no grabbing, and—"

"And if there's so much as a fingerprint on it I'll skin you alive." Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Michelle took _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_ off the shelf. As she sat back down on her bed and opened it, Tommy eagerly leaned over. She held up her hand and inched away from him.

"Don't get too close to the book." She cradled it like a newborn child or valuable jewel.

Tommy obediently scrambled back, settling into a cross-legged position on the bed a generous distance away.

Michelle cleared her throat before beginning to read the words she had practically memorized. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."

After about five minutes, Michelle heard a knock on the door. "Michelle?"

It was her mother. She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf before opening the door. "Yes, Mom?"

"I wanted to tell you it's time to get ready for the Christmas pageant." Her eyes scanned the simple day clothes Michelle hadn't changed out of. "I'm surprised. I'd think you'd have gotten dressed already."

"She was reading Harry Potter to me," Tommy piped up before Michelle could reply.

The experience of doing so honestly wasn't that bad. Sure, Tommy had interrupted every few paragraphs to comment or ask questions, but Michelle didn't mind. Actually, she rather liked it. It was nice to see him get so invested in the story. He had touched the book once or twice, but not damaged it in any way, and had even thanked her for reading it to him at one point.

Mrs. Webster smiled approvingly at Michelle. "That's very nice of you, Michelle. See, spending time with your brother once in a while isn't that bad, is it?"

"No. It isn't," Michelle replied honestly.

**Uploading on Christmas day after a brief hiatus. I can relate to Michelle because I read Goosebumps to my sister when she was six, including the book this fic is based on. Thankfully, she's nowhere near Tara or even Tommy levels. Actually, I kind of am towards her.**


	7. Chapter 7

After Tommy left her room, Michelle focused on getting ready. She spotted the elegant red taffeta dress lying across the back of her chair. She had left it there to remind herself to wear it to the pageant, and of course, Tommy had ruined it.

She decided to wear something simpler, like on the redone Christmas party. She looked into her closet and pulled out another, simpler red dress. It was nice, but rather plain, aside from the velvet trimming on the hem and sleeves. Red was her favorite color, which was why the majority of her closet consisted of it. It was also a Christmas color.

She had to put on a little makeup. She had felt so weird and plain during the Christmas party without it. She could live with Tommy ruining it. Looking in the mirror, she pulled out her makeup kit from the drawer and dabbed some blush onto her cheeks, giving them a nice rosy hue. After applying some eyeliner to her eyes, she realized she couldn't get away with more without her parents complaining, especially since she was younger.

Her hair was already rather neat, so she brushed it just a few times and tied it into a simple braid that she pulled over her shoulder. She straightened to observe her reflection, her favorite part.

Looking into her handbag, she made sure her "feminine products" were zipped tightly in a pouch inside. They hadn't been on the redone Christmas party, since she hadn't spent much time getting ready.

Just then, Tommy burst into her room. Michelle almost laughed at the suit he was wearing. Her mother must've fought tooth and nail to get him to wear it. And was that _gel_ on his hair? "Shel!"

"What?" she snapped, impulsively grabbing the comb and brushing it a few more times through her braid.

"Read more Harry Potter to me?" he asked timidly.

"No. I'm busy getting ready," she replied, even though she was already finished.

Tommy pouted. "Why do you always have to spend so much time getting ready whenever we go out? Does it really matter?"

"Of course it does!" snapped Michelle. "Just because you don't care if you look like a caveman, doesn't mean nobody else does."

"Fine," snapped Tommy. He started to storm out.

"Wait!" Michelle called. She wasn't really sure why she was so hesitant to read to Tommy again. They had had a fairly good time before. Maybe she was worried it was too good to be true and Tommy would inevitably ruin things, like he always did. Still, she kind of wanted someone to talk about Harry Potter with. None of her friends were interested.

Tommy turned around. "What?"

Michelle sighed. "Fine, I will."

Tommy's face lit up. "Really? You mean it?"

"Why not?" She took the fourth book off the shelf and sat down on her bed, opening it.

"But I thought you were busy getting ready," Tommy noted.

"I'm pretty much finished, anyway," she said.

"I thought you'd take longer," said Tommy. "You always spend so much time in front of the mirror. Even more than you spend time with other people."

Michelle frowned. First her parents, now her brother? Sure, she cared about her appearance, but it wasn't as if she was some snobby film star like they acted like she was.

Suddenly, more memories resurfaced. Her brother had come in while she was still getting ready for the pageant to pester her about something or other, and she had immediately kicked him out before he had a chance to speak, wanting to focus on looking her best. In response, he had come back in and snatched her taffeta dress. She had managed to snatch it back, but not before Tommy had gotten his sticky hands all over it. She dismissed him a lot to focus on her appearance, now that she thought about it.

But still. He didn't have to steal her belongings just to gain her attention!

"Are you going to read or not?" Tommy's whiny voice interrupted her thoughts yet again.

She cleared her throat before starting. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

A while later, Mrs. Webster came in without knocking. "Are you kids almost done? We—"

She paused upon seeing the book in Michelle's lap that she had instinctively closed upon hearing her mother come in and Tommy sitting next to her. "You were reading to him again, weren't you? That's so nice of you. You barely spend any time with your brother."

Michelle shrugged dismissively, not knowing how to reply.

Her mother's eyes fell on the plain red dress she was wearing. "I thought you were going to wear your other dress. You know, the one you've been gushing about ever since we bought it for you?" She nodded towards the taffeta dress lying on the back of the chair.

"Oh, well, I don't know," Michelle replied, wracking her brain for an excuse. "It might be a little much, you know?"

Mrs. Webster looked pleased. "I thought so too. You look much nicer in that one. Really, I don't know why you insist on wearing all these silly dresses and makeup."

Michelle rolled her eyes, already tuning out the lecture. She thought the opposite about her family, that they didn'r care enough about their appearance.

"I swear, you seem to care more about them than about your own brother."

Michelle snapped back upon hearing that sentence. She thought that was unfair. After all, Tommy was the reason most of her clothes were dirty. He was always stealing them from her, ripping them up, getting his dirty, sticky hands on them, just to get her attention.

Yeah, that was why he had done it. She didn't give him attention, so he tried forcing her to by ruining the things she focused on more.

"Anyway, we have to go." Michelle grabbed her handbag, double checking to make sure she had everything and that the pouch with those embarrassing products was safely zipped.

When they were in the car, Tommy eagerly turned to Michelle. "Can you tell me more about Harry Potter?"

"I don't have the book," she pointed out, though she had pretty much memorized it.

"Just tell me!" Tommy insisted, bouncing up and down in impatience. He seemed to like the book almost as much as she did.

She started explaining the following events of the chapter as the car started and pulled out of the driveway.. As they drove down the street, she finished describing Chapter One, ending with, "To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!" She paused to take a breath, suddenly feeling rather parched. She took a small water bottle out of her handbag and took a long sip. "And that's the end of Chapter One."

"Cool!" said Tommy. "So what happens in Chapter Two?"

Michelle took another sip of water. She rarely read—or described—the books out loud. "Several years pass in the Dursley household..."

Their parents were playing loud radio music, which caused Tommy to have to lean on Michelle to hear her voice. When she started describing Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's blatant favoritism towards Dudley and how Harry ws largely overlooked, she muttered "sounds familiar".

"What?" Tommy turned to her.

"Nothing, nothing." She started talking again, but Tommy interrupted. "What do you mean by that?"

Michelle sighed. "I just mean..." She paused. No, she couldn't say that. "Nevermind."

Tommy lowered his voice, even though their parents already couldn't hear them. "Do you mean Mom and Dad like you more than me?"

Michelle winced. Since when had Tommy become so inquisitive? "Maybe a little, I guess. They're not as bad as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, of course. I just feel like they let you get away with more stuff, you know? Maybe because you're the baby."

"They always say I don't have to feel bad about messing up because I'm little," said Tommy. "And you're older, so you have to worry. That makes sense, right?"

Michelle supposed it did. Still, there was cutting him slack, and then there was letting him get away with murder.

Michelle awkwardly cleared her throat. "Anyway. Harry was expected to cook for Dudley's birthday..."

As they arrived at the theatre, Michelle realized she had been so caught up in reading to Tommy that she had completely forgotten to prepare for the events of the pageant. And somehow, she didn't really mind.


	8. Chapter 8

As Michelle stepped out of the car, she noticed with delight that it had started snowing. Only slightly, but still. She closed her eyes, taking in the chilly air and falling snowflakes with bliss. She remembered one of the reasons she liked Christmas so much. It didn't always snow in her neighborhood, but when it did...

She wished she had dressed a little warmer, but thankfully, she had packed a silky red shawl in her handbag. She took it out and wrapped it around her shoulders. It offered little protection, but she didn't really mind. As Elsa would say, the cold never bothered her anyway.

She staggered back in surprise as her vision was suddenly blocked by something wet and heavy. Sputtering, she reached up to her face, realizing immediately what it was when her bare hand connected with the cold texture. She pushed it off and wiped off her skirt with the napkins in her handbag, an angry glare forming on her face as her narrowed eyes fell on the culprit—Tommy.

He giggled fiendishly, fueling her anger, though it was much less serious than when she usually dealt with Tommy. "Oh, you're gonna get it!" He ran away from her, still giggling, as she scanned the area for where he'd gotten the snow from. There. A small, but noticeable pile by the nearest streetlamp.

She raced over and tried cupping some in her hands to make a ball, but it wasn't easy. She was always a bit disappointed that snow was never fluffy or soft like it looked in the movies. Instead, it was more like mashed up ice. She had to resist the urge to drop it out of her hands, being so unbearably cold. So much for the cold not bothering her. She wished she had ice powers too. Then she could create and chuck snowballs without even touching them.

She finally managed to scoop a reasonable amount into her now numb hands—she seriously needed gloves—and chased after Tommy, who was now almost to the car. She got close enough to throw it just when she thought her hands couldn't take anymore, watching with a satisfied smirk as the clumsily made clump connected very nicely with Tommy's pristine black suit, making him squeal and then laugh.

Just then, her parents looked up just in time to see the snow clump—calling it a ball was too generous—hit Tommy. They had been deeply invested in their phone, no doubt checking when and where exactly the pageant would take place. Upon noticing it was snowing, they must've had the foresight to don a scarf, beanie and jacket kept in the boot of the car just in case. Predictably, Mrs. Webster frowned at Michelle, hurrying over to see if Tommy was alright.

"Are you hurt, dear?" Mrs. Webster dusted him off, checking for damage, as if he had been hit by a bullet instead of the snow.

"I'm fine, Mom," replied Tommy, looking slightly disappointed that he didn't have a chance to hit Michelle back.

Once she was sure that precious Tommy was alright, Mrs. Webster turned her attention to Michelle, frowningc at her. "Honestly, Michelle. You're assaulting your brother on _Christmas_? I'd have thought better of you."

_Assaulting?_ Really? "I wasn't!" she insisted. "He hit me first!"

"I was just having fun!" protested Tommy.

"Regardless, you shouldn't have hit back," said Mrs. Webster primly. "You're a teenager now, and he's a little boy. You could have really hurt him."

Michelle scoffed. "What, could the snow break that suit you spent so long fighting to get him in?" The sarcastic retort was out before she could stop it.

Mrs. Webster's eyes narrowed. Before she could say anything, Mr. Webster came up next to her. "Michelle, we're doing this pageant for you. We could easily cancel it if you're going to give us a hard time."

Michelle knew better than to retort that he should tell Tommy not to give her a hard time. She simply nodded. "Yes, sir."

"At least put something warm on!" exclaimed Mrs. Webster, already heading to the boot of the car. "I was going to make you, but then I started wondering when exactly the pageant would be. We can't be late, after all. Luckily, it seems we have plenty of time. Good thing you didn't make us late." She narrowed her eyes at Michelle.

Suddenly, Michelle was hit by yet another burst of memories. Tommy had tried to initiate a snowball fight like this before, but she had refused to partake, not wanting to get her dress dirty. Of course, Tommy had thrown snowballs anyway, and that was how her dress had gotten ruined. And of course, her parents had still blamed her for some reason.

A short while later, they were all warmly bundled up. Tommy protested and squirmed as his mother forced the slightly oversized sweater onto him, though Michelle imagined it was nothing compared to the fight he had put up over that suit. After finishing, Mrs. Webster stepped back and practically cooed at how "cute" he looked.

As they walked up to the theatre, Tommy tried unsuccessfully to scratch at his sweater with his mittens. "Do I have to wear this? It's kind of itchy."

"You can take it off when we get in the theatre," replied Mrs. Webster without looking back.

"Now that we're all dressed, can we keep playing?" asked Tommy. "The snowballs won't hurt me now."

Mrs. Webster shook her head. "No, Tommy. You could still get hurt, a child as young as you. And I don't trust Michelle to go easy on you."

Michelle snorted. Honestly, her parents made it sound like her brother was some porcelain doll.

Once they entered the theatre, it took a good five minutes for them to locate their show. As they stepped into the show playing The Nutcracker, Michelle breathed a sigh at how warm it was. It had been slightly warmer indoors, but not as much as in here. The warm, toasty atmosphere was a welcome relief from the chilly, biting cold.

Soft, elegant music was playing, but the curtains on stage hadn't even opened yet. Several minutes passed after they took their seats.

Tommy started bouncing up and down in his, which was regretfully next to Michelle. "When will this start?" he whined.

"Tommy, you have to wait," admonished Michelle. "It takes a while."

"Let's play I Spy," suggested Tommy.

"No!" groaned Michelle. "I hate that game."

In truth, she didn't hate it as much as she hated how Tommy played it. He always came up with the most specific, impossible to guess things, usually insulting her.

Tommy ignored her. "I spy, with my big, ginormous eye..." As if to demonstrate, he got out of his seat and faced Michelle, leaning extremely close to her and staring right into her eyes, causing her to back away. "...something beginning with S."

Michelle groaned. She could already guess this. "Stupid?"

"No."

"Stupid sister?"

"No. But close."

"Stupid sister who only cares about her looks?"

"No. But that would have been a good one."

When Michelle didn't reply, instead simply sighing, he explained, "Stupid, weird sister who forced us to come to this boring pageant!" He burst into an obnoxious fit of giggles as if he had told the funniest joke to ever grace comedy. If hyenas could laugh, Michelle imagined that was exactly how they sounded like. She could hear her parents chuckling slightly in the other seat. No doubt if she told the same joke to Tommy, they'd deem it inhumane.

"Ha-ha," Michelle replied drily. She was starting to take back her earlier kindness towards Tommy and thoughts of him being cute.

"Now it's your turn."

"I don't want to play," she replied shortly. She just wanted to see the pageant, no matter how long it took.

After a few moments of silence, during which the pageant had still not started, she heard a humming in the seat next to her. A very familiar humming.

Michelle groaned. She felt like pulling her hair, like ripping her ears off. Please, music, get louder, please, pageant, start...

It was no use. She winced and closed her eyes with begrudging acceptance as the dreaded tune filled her ears.

Tommy, noticing his sister's discomfort, began to sing louder. "The snow glows white on the mountain tonight..."

Michelle groaned, covering her ears with her hands. Ever since that movie had come out a few months ago, Tommy had been obsessed. He couldn't stop humming the songs. Especially _that_ one. Michelle had occasionally teased him for liking a princess movie, but quickly regretted it as he took it upon himself to sing that song every opportunity he got. She was actually kind of surprised he hadn't sung it earlier today, it being Christmas and everything. Maybe he was just waiting for the perfect time to ruin the pageant for her.

It didn't help that Tommy had the most annoying voice known to humanity. Well, eight-year-old Tommy did, anyway. Six-year-old Tommy's voice was actually kind of cute, in that squeaky, high-pitched way.

Great. She was back to calling him cute.

Then again, most little kids' voices sounded at least a little cute. But no amount of high-pitched cuteness could salvage this song. She couldn't believe that at one point, she had actually kind of liked it.

When he got to the first "let it go", she couldn't take it anymore. The drawn-out, belted line must've been heard by everyone in the pageant, even over the considerable chatter. After a moment, she growled, turned in her seat, and turned to Tommy. "Shut up! Shut up and—"

She paused. Tommy had left his seat. Now that she thought about it, he had stopped singing after "let it go". Instead, she had accidentally yelled it to the girl in the next seat across. The girl, who was already facing Michelle's direction, blinked in surprise.

Michelle felt her cheeks heating up. "Sorry. I was talking to someone else."

The girl nodded in understanding. "Little brother?"

"How'd you know?"

"I think everyone in the theatre heard that awful rendition of Let It Go," she joked. "And to be honest, I've kind of been watching you two for a while. It's more entertaining than The Nutcracker, at any rate."

Michelle groaned. "It'd be way better without him."

"Tell me about it," she agreed. "As if the pageant isn't enough of a snooze fest, my babysitter has to come with us. She has to be one of the most boring people alive."

"I don't know where my brother's gone." Michelle craned her head to scan the theatre, spotting him hiding under a seat, giggling. "If he's playing hide and seek, I'm not finding him."

Just then, three people, a man and two women (one of the women considerably older) walked up next to the girl. She gave a little groan and turned her attention to the empty stage.

Michelle took pity on her. If they both had people ruining the pageant for them (even though the girl seemed considerably less interested in it than she was), the least she could do was help her out.

Suddenly, the girl spoke to the younger woman in the seat next to hers. "Mom, can I go to the bathroom? Please?"

Her mom frowned. "Honestly, Sam, you really expect me to believe that? I know you don't want to see the pageant, but the least you could do is refrain from making such excuses."

"But I really need to go this time!" insisted Sam. "Honest!"

"I'll go with her," Michelle spoke up suddenly.

Sam's mom turned to her. "And who are you?"

"I'm Michelle. Me and Sam have been talking for a while here," explained Michelle. That wasn't totally a lie. "I could go with her."

"Alright then," said Sam's mother, though she mostly looked pleased her daughter had made a friend. "Make sure she doesn't stay too long, will you?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. She's not my babysitter, Mom! Besides, I already have one." Before her mother could say anything, Sam grabbed Michelle's arm and the two of them raced through the row of seats and down the steps leading to the front of the stage.

When they had found the ladies room in the bathroom at the back of the theatre, Sam said, "Thanks for that. I thought I was going to explode if I had to sit there any longer!"

"Not a fan of The Nutcracker?" asked Michelle.

"More like nutcracker nightmare!" groaned Sam. "Bad enough my parents forced me to come, the actors seem to be putting on the finishing touches of makeup or something."

"It's good to come a little late, so you don't have to wait as long," suggested Michelle. She added, "Sam is short for Samantha, right?"

Sam groaned. "Oh, don't call me that name. And my parents always insist on me coming early."

"We might as well go to the bathroom now that we're here," suggested Michelle. "It's a long play, after all."

After going to the bathroom, they hovered around for as long as they dared before going back. As they headed up to their seats, they saw the curtains on stage open.

"There you are!" exclaimed Mrs. Webster as Michelle sat down. Tommy was back in the seat next to Michelle, to her dismay. "It's starting! Where were you?"


	9. Chapter 9

As the pageant progressed, Michelle was surprised by how quiet Tommy was. At least, for a little while.

He was quiet for a good twenty minutes, much longer than she had expected, before roughly elbowing her. She dutifully ignored him, leaning further forward in his seat to watch the dancers. When he kept doing it harder and harder, until she actually yelped quietly, she decided to humor him.

"What do you want, Tommy?" She refused to look at him, her attention still on the stage.

"Play I Spy with me?" suggested Tommy.

"No! Can't you see I'm watching?" She leaned even further forward, grateful that the music had gotten louder.

"But it's so boring," complained Tommy. "How can you watch this stuff? It'd put anyone to sleep."

"Then go to sleep," suggested Michelle.

Tommy ignored her. "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with C."

She tried to ignore him, but winced when he poked her. Hard. When he continued poking and pinching and elbowing her, she sighed. She'd have to humor him if she didn't want a bruise.

"Chocolate?" she suggested, deciding to just name random C words.

"No. There's no chocolate here," noted Tommy.

"Cat?"

"There's no cat here, either."

"Candle?"

"Now you're just guessing."

"I'm supposed to guess," Michelle pointed out, her eyes still glued to the stage.

"But you're not guessing right," protested Tommy. "You're not even looking around."

"You never play right," retorted Michelle.

"It's curtains."

"Really?" Michelle was surprised. That was a rather normal thing to spy. The last time, he had picked something far more insulting.

"That was obvious." She could practically see him rolling his eyes. "You're so dumb, Michelle. Now your turn."

Without getting into the I spy part, she simply said, "D." She was going to think of something more insulting, but decided if Tommy could spy something normal, she could too.

After a brief pause, Tommy said, "Darkness?"

"No."

"Dancing?"

"Close."

"Dance?"

"No."

"Dancers?"

"Yes."

"Now my turn!" Michelle was determined to ignore him this time. She had humored him enough. She didn't care if she got a bruise.

She tried to ignore Tommy's pokes and prods, but then heard him say something different. "Alright, enough playing. Can you tell me more about Harry Potter?"

Michelle paused. Her love of Harry Potter outweighed even her excitement for this pageant, but she could read the books or tell Tommy about them any time. She couldn't watch this pageant any day.

"No. Maybe later, okay?" she offered.

"How much later?" whined Tommy. "The pageant's so long! I'm going to explode if I have to sit here the whole time!" Michelle cringed at how loud and shrill his voice got at the end.

His voice caught the attention of their mother, who turned to look at them. "What's wrong, Tommy?"

"He won't let me watch the pageant!" interjected Michelle before Tommy could say anything.

"Michelle's being mean!" protested Tommy. "I just want her to talk to me, but she won't."

It didn't surprise Michelle when her mother said, "Surely you can talk to your brother for a little while, Michelle. The pageant won't end any time soon."

Michelle groaned quietly. She knew she had to obey her mother or she'd get an earful. She turned to an excited Tommy, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. "Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss came over..."

Despite her annoyance, she couldn't help getting invested in the story as she continued explaining. Harry Potter had that effect on her. Tommy's eagerness to listen was also endearing to her. Michelle didn't realize how much fun it was to explain the books to someone who had never read them before instead of rereading them herself. She even did different voices for the characters and actions with her hands for what happened.

After a while, she realized she still had a pageant to watch. She returned her attention to the stage, noticing it was close to the finale of Act One. She quickly blocked Harry Potter from her mind and focused on the dancers.

She applauded as the rest of the audience did when it ended, waiting for Act Two to start. To her surprise, Tommy didn't bug her for the rest of the pageant, though she did occasionally hear him humming Let It Go to himself. Last time, he hadn't stopped bugging her and asking her to talk to him, and she had constantly told him to stop, at one point causing a scene.

As they exited the theatre, Michelle put her winter clothes back on. She and her family had taken them off when they were inside. It was such a stark change to go from the toasty theatre to the chilly indoor air. It was even chillier outdoors.

As they walked back to the car, her parents chattering amongst themselves and Michelle thinking about the vastly improved pageant, she was abruptly taken out of her thoughts as she felt something cold and hard hit her—again. Thankfully, this time it was on her coat instead of her face.

She saw Tommy giggling, but knew she couldn't retaliate, as much as she wanted to. Her parents would just scold her again. She brushed the remains of the snow off with her mittens and walked steadily on.

After a while, she yelped as she felt another snowball hit her, this time on the skirt of her dress, which was uncovered. She groaned as she wiped it off, her bare legs feeling even colder than before even though they were underneath. She walked faster to reach the car.

Spotting Tommy constructing yet another snowball near a streetlamp, she started walking even quicker, and then started jogging. Her gaze was focused on Tommy so she could avoid him, so she squealed in surprise as her feet slipped on the wet pavement.

She slipped, wildly waving her hands with no success, and fell face-first down on the cold, hard pavement. A sharp pain flared in her face. A very familiar pain.

Oh, yeah. This happened last time.

She heard Tommy and her parents cry out her name. The next second, she felt her mother's arms dragging her upright. Michelle groaned, leaning into her mother, one hand reaching up to her face which was bursting with pain.

"Michelle, you're bleeding!" exclaimed Mrs. Webster in concern.

"Don't worry, it's not bad," added Mr. Webster. "Just a little from your nose. Here." He removed his scarf off and held it up in front of her hand.

Michelle wanted to tell him to take the napkins from her handbag, but she didn't care much at the moment. She removed her hand from her face to accept the scarf and pressed it against her bleeding nose. Her father was right, it wasn't bad. When she pulled the tissue away, she saw a blood stain about the size of a fingernail. She could've sworn from the pain that it was worse.

Her father had already run to the car to take some bandages. He held one up to her nose and pressed it firmly on. Michelle winced slightly, but could already feel the pain fade. Her mother held her tighter.

"There, that should do it," decided Mr. Webster. "Just be more careful next time."

Michelle rolled her eyes at the comment, but didn't reply. Tommy did, however.

"It was my fault."

The now relatively mild pain she was in was nothing compared to the shock of hearing her brother say those words.

Her parents must've felt the same, turning to Tommy in confusion. "What do you mean, dear?" inquired Mrs. Webster.

Tommy bit his lip, like he did when he was nervous. "I was throwing snowballs at her. She was running to avoid them, and then she slipped." He lowered his head.

"Oh, it's not your fault, sweetie," assured Mrs. Webster, turning her concerned gaze to Tommy as if he was the one bleeding. "You were just having some fun."

"That's right," agreed Mr. Webster. "Don't feel bad about it." He turned sternly to Michelle. "Michelle, you shouldn't have been running on the wet ground like that. That's very dangerous. Unless you're trying to avoid an angry mob or something, you should always walk."

Michelle bristled at the scolding, but couldn't help smiling a little at the angry mob comment. Still, where was the scolding Tommy got for throwing snowball at her? She had gotten one for throwing them at him, but had he?

As Michelle settled into the car, she was pretty happy with how the pageant had turned out. Aside from her little fall that she had forgotten about, she had had a fairly good time. She hoped that when she went to sleep, she'd at least wake up the next day, or, better yet, when she was fifteen. But if she didn't, she didn't think she minded too much. Trying to fix her past Christmases was actually kind of fun.


	10. Chapter 10

When they arrived home, Michelle wanted to bring up the clock. She had been thinking about it all through the drive. She was almost positive it had something to do with all this time travel stuff.

_This would be the perfect Christmas story_, thought Michelle. _All it needs is the ghost of Christmas past._

"Um, Dad?" She decided to cautiously broach the subject once they were inside and Tommy had disappeared into his room. "About that cuckoo clock..." She paused. Before she could think of what to say, her father interrupted.

"Oh, Michelle. You want me to buy it too?" Her father smiled at her as he took his coat off.

Her mother groaned as she unwrapped her scarf. "Oh, Herman, I really wish you'd give up this clock thing. I don't even know why you want it so much. It's becoming a pipe dream at this point."

"Maybe," conceded Mr. Webster as he hung it on the coat rack. "But you never know. Maybe this year, they'll lower the price."

_Lower the price?_ Yes, that was it! Her father had been able to buy the clock two years later because there was a discount since it was Christmas. It was Christmas now as well, so maybe the price would be lowered too.

Before her parents could get into an argument, Michelle quickly said, "Have you tried buying it this month, Dad?"

Her father frowned. "Yes, I think so. At the beginning of December, I asked Anthony if there was a discount. You know, being the month of giving and all."

"And what did he say?" Michelle tried not to sound too excited.

"He said there was, but it was still too expensive for me to buy without losing too much money." He added, "Or at least, too expensive by your mother's standards." Michelle felt her excitement quickly being replaced by disappointment.

Mrs. Webster frowned, hanging her own coat that was already off on the rack. "Forgive me if I'm not eager to spend our hard earned money on some oversized antique. Why do you want it, again?"

Michelle tuned out the argument that was starting. She didn't want to press her father too much in case it seemed weird of her, but she couldn't just give up either. This might be her chance to fix this time travel thing.

"Are you _sure_ it's too expensive?" she asked.

Her mother stopped talking with her father to look at her. "Michelle, don't tell me _you've_ gotten this ridiculous cuckoo clock idea into your head too."

"Of course not," she protested. "It's just..." She paused, trying to think of an excuse. "The pageant was great, but I thought we could do something else for Christmas. Something special." Immediately after saying it, she wished she could've thought of something better.

"Oh, and wasting our money on an overpriced antique is something special?" Her mother crossed her arms.

"Well... not really," admitted Michelle. "But, well, it'd be something new, wouldn't it?"

"See, honey? Michelle's on my side," Mr. Webster told her mother. "You're outnumbered."

"Oh, don't you two start ganging up on me," groaned Mrs. Webster, but the angry motions she did when she was actually mad at Michelle's father were absent. "Besides, we don't know Tommy's opinion. He could side with me."

_Of course. Darling Tommy_, thought Michelle bitterly. His opinion would mean more than her and her father's combined.

"Look, let's just drop the clock thing," said Mrs. Webster. "I don't know why we've gone on about it for so long. You already said it's too expensive."

"Yeah, it is," conceded Mr. Webster with a sigh. In a lower voice, he added to Michelle, "Don't worry, Michelle. We'll convert your mother some other time."

"I heard that!" called Mrs. Webster as she disappeared down the hall.

Michelle wanted to insist further, but knew she couldn't. The discussion was over. What else could she do, run to Anthony's Antiques right then and steal it?

When she entered her room, she wasn't surprised to see Tommy inside. She was, however, surprised to see him paging through one of her treasured Harry Potter books. Though why she was surprised, she wasn't sure. This was Tommy, after all. No matter how cute he could be at times.

"Tommy!" She snatched the book from it, her eyes frantically scanning the pages. To her surprise, there were no marks. No dirt, no smudges, no water, nothing tainting the pages. She remembered he had gotten chocolate smudges on it last time.

But still. He didn't have to touch her own property without her permission, after she did the courtesy of reading the books to him!

"Did I say you could touch my books?" She held the book far out of his reach as he tried to grab it again.

"I don't see what the big deal is," shrugged Tommy. "I didn't even get anything on them."

"That's not the point! The point is, they're _my_ books and I didn't say you could touch them." Michelle tried to keep an even tone, as much as she felt like yelling at Tommy.

"But you _never_ let me touch them," noted Tommy. "Why don't you?"

"Because you ruin every single one!" Michelle exploded, failing to keep her even tone.

"But I didn't ruin this one," noted Tommy.

Michelle paused. He was right. He could've ruined this one, but he didn't. But still.

She was just about to reply when she felt someone's presence behind her. "Michelle, what's going on?"

Her mother. Michelle must've been talking louder than she thought.

"Nothing," she said quickly. She knew there was no use tattling on Tommy. Her parents just took his side every time.

Her mother's gaze fell on Tommy. "Tommy, was Michelle being mean to you?"

Michelle groaned. Here it came.

"No. She was just teling me about Harry Potter."

Michelle wouldn't have been more surprised at that moment if her mother had sprouted green wings and started breathing fire. She couldn't be hearing correctly. Tommy was lying to cover her?

Mrs. Webster frowned. "If you say so. Well, if she's being mean, tell me. I'll make sure she stops."

"Yes, Mom."

Michelle forced herself to close her gaping mouth before her mother saw. When she left the room, Michelle opened it again. She was tempted to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming.

She looked at Tommy. "Why did you do that?" The Tommy she knew _never_ missed a chance to tell on her.

Tommy shrugged dismissively. "Well, since you're reading Harry Potter to me, I thought I owed you one."

"Well... uh..." Michelle had to force the next words out of her mouth. "Thanks, Tommy. It was really nice of you."

Tommy nodded, then glanced at the book Michelle was still holding. She groaned inwardly, expecting even more pestering that might result in her actually getting trouble this time (she doubted Tommy would cover for her twice), but instead, he simply left her bedroom.

She breathed a sigh of relief and started reading the book, but she could barely bring herself to care about the words she'd already read so many times already. She missed reading to Tommy. It seemed so boring to read by herself now, when she already knew exactly what happened.

Suddenly, she heard a few familiar-sounding knocks on the door, followed by a voice. "Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Michelle groaned, flopping onto her bed and covering her head with a pillow in an unsuccessful attempt to block it out. She had forgotten how much he liked that song, too.


	11. Chapter 11

Michelle finally managed to go to sleep after Tommy insisted on finishing his rendition of "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" She decided to humor him and say "Go away, Tommy!" after the first section.

Her mother had come into her room to inform her that it was lunch, only to see her beneath the blankets. Michelle said she had a headache and felt like going to bed early. Her mother had felt her forehead and asked how much it hurt, even insisting on bringing a small lunch up, causing Michelle to express her annoyance.

Privately, she didn't mind. In fact, she enjoyed it. Her mother rarely fussed over her in such a way. That was usually reserved for Tommy, even when he wasn't sick.

She ate the food her mother brought up, grateful that it wasn't Healthy Eating Week now, before trying to go to sleep, which was harder than she thought. She was so eager to wake up the next day to see if what would happen, but at the same time so nervous about it that her body couldn't seem to decide whether it wanted to sleep.

She forced herself to relax and think about random things, which always helped. She even found herself recounting the day's events, which she rarely did. She had thought it was a good way to help her get to sleep when she was younger, but her days were so often filled with embarrassing, painful memories that she just wanted to block from her memory. Thanks to a certain someone.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was the change in location. For one thing, the blankets were fancier, thick with intricate gold designs on the hem that she ran her fingers over. The bed was also taller, and a darker wood instead of the medium brown on her regular bed. She didn't notice at the moment, though, as the other differences were far more drastic.

Aside from the fancier bed, the room was much barer than her usual one. The only things to be seen other than the dark wooded walls was a plain white wardrobe and set of drawers with several of her belongings scattered on top. Oh, and a window on the wall facing the door.

She walked over to the window, aware that she was wearing the white nightgown she had when she was younger. Three guesses why she didn't have it anymore. She had to stand on her tiptoes to peek out, surprised to see several white, snow-lathered trees nestled together in front of a light purple sky. It did occasionally snow in her neighborhood, but not this much. It also looked very early, like the sun had just finished its journey to the sky.

Her family must be on vacation, she decided. They had rented a motel or something. She remembered going skiing a few times and staying in a cabin. This must be another Christmas.

She scratched her hair, hating how messy it was after she woke up. To her surprise, it was even finer than it usually was. As she ran her fingers down it, she realized it was shorter, stopping just below her shoulders instead of down her back like usual. It was the kind of hair she remembered having when she was ten or eleven. Her first instinct was to brush it, but there were more important things to sort out first.

She opened the door of the room, seeing a short hallway turning right and leading to a living room. It was currently vacant, with an empty fireplace under the television, cosy couches in front, and a coffee table with a miniature Christmas tree. At one end was a glass door and large windows looking out to an unfamiliar verandah in front of a frosty street. But what stood out to her most were the suitcases against one wall.

Remembering something, Michelle walked over to the fireplace and fiddled with the knobs. When she turned on one, the empty hearth roared to life, flames crackling inside.

She remembered thinking that was so cool and constantly turning it on and off, much to her parents' annoyance. Now that she thought about it, the room looked familiar. Her family had gone to this place for more than one Christmas.

She had to get ready before thinking of anything else. Her first instinct was to look in the mirror to see how different she looked. Would she still be a thirteen-year-old, or would she be younger? Or, preferably, older?

There was a door at the other end of the hallway in front of her room, which Michelle found led to a bathroom. She walked slowly to the sink, closing her eyes for dramatic effect as she approached the mirror. After opening them, she started. She never got used to seeing her younger self.

She could tell she was eleven, with her ugly bangs and brown freckles dotting her cheeks. Her mom said they looked cute, but Michelle knew she was just saying that. She looked so geeky at this age. She was glad she had outgrown it quickly.

After brushing her teeth, she retreated to her room to brush her hair, picking up the comb and mirror on top of the set of drawers. After managing to tame her hair into being somewhat manageable, she braided it into two neat pigtails. She knew this would make her look even more geeky, but she couldn't care too much when she was going back in time. Actually, at that age, she hadn't cared much how her hair looked, as long as it was out of her face. She was very different back then.

She slipped out of her nightgown, tucking it into the wardrobe, and slipped on a sleek red dress she found inside. She usually wore it when going out, but it was just casual enough that she could wear it at home too. Being well-dressed always improved her confidence. It was almost enough to outweigh the knowledge that Tommy would inevitably ruin her clothes.

When she entered the living room again, her mother was there too, in her dressing robe and holding a steaming mug of coffee. She had long, wavy brown hair now, almost as messy as Michelle's had been upon waking up. She smiled drearily at Michelle.

"Hi, honey." Michelle noticed the fireplace was now off again.

Her mother's smile vanished as she saw Michelle looking at the fireplace. "Michelle, how many times have I told you and your brother not to turn that on every hour? It wastes the electricity, you know. I had the same problem with telling you to keep the lights at home off."

She paused, clearly expecting a protest or defense from Michelle. "You're quiet this morning."

Michelle finally found her voice. "Just, uh... getting used to this place."

Mrs. Webster nodded. "It is rather different, isn't it? But you were rather excited about it last night." She chuckled, as if remembering.

Suddenly, Michelle remembered. They went here to go skiing. She had loved it when they came here, hating having to leave and wanting to take up skiing lessons at home, but her parents had refused, claiming there weren't any lessons nearby. They went to the same resort next year, and Michelle had been very excited to go skiing again.

Her mother must've noticed her silence as she was lost in memories. "Oh, right. Breakfast. How could I forget? You always need it to be verbal in the morning." She chuckled again. "Should we order or go out?"

"Uh... go out, I guess." She answered without thinking.

"Either way, there's not going to be many healthy options, if the menu is any indication," she acknowledged with a sigh. "I thought my diet was going well."

_A diet?_ thought Michelle. She thought her mother was born a health freak.

Mrs. Webster sat down on the couch and switched the overhead television on, lazily flicking through the channels as she talked.

"It's about six, and we're set to go skiing at eight. I'll have to wake your dad and brother up. Of course, it'll be a hassle to. I wish they woke up as early as you."

Michelle was surprised by how talkative her mother was this morning. She couldn't remember her being too much of a morning person, though she certainly was compared to her dad and brother.

"I could wake them." Michelle didn't know why she suggested it.

"That'd be nice of you." She could hear the relief in her mother's voice. "At least Tommy will be a little less moody if you're the one to wake him up."

Michelle wondered what she meant by that. If she was eleven, Tommy was four now. She'd definitely find him cute. Most four-year-olds were. Appearance wise, that is.

Looking around, she saw a door on one side of the living room, next to a small connected kitchen. Opening it, she saw her father and brother fast asleep in a master bed. There probably wasn't anywhere else for Tommy to sleep. She decided to wake him first, knowing how grumpy her father was about being woken.

He was lying in the middle, wearing pullover pyjamas and hugging his prized tedy bear that he had outgrown by eight, his dark blond hair sticking up everywhere. Michelle smiled at the sight. No denying it, it was cute. For Tommy the Terror, that is.

She gently shook him, before remembering what a heavy sleeper her brother was. She firmly grasped his shoulders, being careful not to be too tight, and shook him as hard as she dared, not wanting an earful from her parents if he started crying. He simply squirmed a little and mumbled something, clutching his teddy bear tighter.

She was considering yelling at him when she got an idea. She reached out her hand, grasped his chin, and pulled it up just enough to expose his neck. Then she placed her other hand on his neck and started tickling, remembering how sensitive that area was to him.

He started squirming vigorously, then slowly opened his eyes. Upon becoming aware of the fingers on his neck, he let out a groan and reached up his little hands to pry them off, giggling slightly.

Michelle stopped then, though she secretly wanted to keep tickling him. After rubbing his eyes with an arm, he saw Michelle, and his face lit up.

"Shelly!"

Michelle smiled slightly. She remembered finding that nickname annoying, but she didn't know why now. It was too cute, especially in that little voice.

Then he frowned and pouted, seeming to remember he was supposed to be annoyed at being woken. "Why wake me?"

"We have to go skiing."

"Don't wanna." He buried his face into his pillow, still clutching his teddy bear.

"If you don't, I'll call Mom." Immediately after that threat, Michelle thought of a better idea.

"Don't you want to wake Dad?" She let a playful tone creep into her voice. "He's fast asleep. I bet you could wake him quicker than I could."

Tommy looked up slightly from his pillow at that. "I know! I jump on him."

"Good idea." Michelle said it both to Tommy and herself for thinking of a way to both convince him to get out of bed and wake her father.

He slowly sat up in bed and glanced at his father, who was lying on his side, snoring. He crawled over to him and lay over his torso. Then he pulled his legs up and began bouncing, clutching his father's shirt tightly.

Mr. Webster groaned at the uncomfortable weight on his body. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand—Michelle forgot he sometimes wore them back then—and tried to slip them on without success. He rolled over, to the surprise of Tommy who squealed as he fell onto the bed, and picked up his son and lifted him onto his stomach.

"What do you think you're doing, mister?" he questioned with mock sternness as Tommy started bouncing again. "Waking your old man at such an hour?"

"It was my idea." Michelle didn't know why she said it.

Her father glanced at her. His hair was sticking up in all directions and darker, closer to dark brown than light. "I don't know why both my children seem against me this morning."

"We're going skiing today," reminded Michelle. "Remember?"

"Not at this hour, surely." Her father "oof"ed as Tommy bounced on him.

"We have to get ready and get breakfast," she pointed out.

Mr. Webster gently helped Tommy off his stomach, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. "Alright, just give us a minute."

Soon, they were all dressed and sitting at a restaurant table, Tommy in his father's lap. He kept kissing the top of the child's head, causing him to giggle. Michelle always thought her mother doted on him more than her father.

"At least there's something decent on the menu." Her mother picked up a forkful of the vegetable omelette she had ordered.

Mrs. Webster frowned at her. "Honey, I wish you'd drop this diet of yours. It's clearly not working." He seemed to realize how poorly he phrased that. "Uh, I mean—"

"It's fine, Herman. I know what you meant." She sighed. "I just thought I could stand to be a little healthier."

"It's Christmas. Can't you take a break just this once?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "I probably could, if I hadn't taken so many breaks already." She shoved the eggs into her mouth, making a face. "Ugh. Too much salt."

Michelle concentrated on her own breakfast, noodles and a blueberry muffin. Tommy was practically inhaling his French toast while seated on his father's lap, getting the maple syrup all over his mouth.

"Honey, I wish you'd feed him," remarked Mrs. Webster. "He clearly can't do it himself."

Mr. Webster frowned at her. "Sharon, he has to learn. He's four now, we can't be babying him all the time."

"It just seems like a lot less hassle if we feed him."

"We didn't feed Michelle at this age," noted Mr. Webster.

_Figures_, thought Michelle. Not that she particularly cared if they did. The thought of herself at that age was weird, to say the least.

After breakfast, they returned to their cabin to get ready for skiing. Michelle didn't know whether she'd get classes or not. She remembered that she had to learn from an instructor one year and did it herself the next. Since she had forgotten most about skiing, she hoped it was the former.

She approached the topic while fixing her ski jacket next to her father. "Uh, Dad? Will I get classes on how to ski?" She tried to word it in a way that wouldn't seem weird regardless of whether she would.

Her father turned to her, surprised. "I told you, Michelle, not this year. You learned last time, remember? Unless you've forgotten already." His voice took on a playful tone by the end.

_Crap. _"Well... maybe I have," Michelle tried. "It has been a year, after all." She remembered trying to make sure she didn't forget everything she had been taught about skiing after leaving the lodge, but ended up forgetting very soon anyway.

Mr. Webster laughed. "Didn't you keep repeating what you learned about skiing in case you didn't forget? It'd be a shame if you did. I'll have suffered for nothing."

Michelle realized she was going to have to test her acting skills. "Well, you know..." She tried to make it seem like she was trying desperately to spit out something that she didn't want to. "I mean... I know I said I wouldn't forget, but... well..." She sheepishly looked down, hoping this was fooling him.

"Oh, Michelle. If you needed a refresher, you should've said so. I would've signed you up with an instructor, but it's too late now." Her father patted the top of her head sympathetically, but looked like he had been expecting this. "Don't worry, your mother and I can teach you."

Michelle realized her father probably knew she was in need of a refresher, but didn't put her in classes because he didn't want to offend her. Why had her younger self been so stubborn? And sporty? She didn't like any sports at fifteen.

After bundling herself up in her ski clothes, she decided to do something with her hair. She remembered a tutorial she had seen online. In front of the miror she held while in her room, she undid her pigtails and then did them again, but thinner, before joining the braids together on top of her head like a crown, kind of like the hairstyle Anna and Elsa wore in Frozen. Instead of tying the rest of her hair in a bun like the tutorial showed, she left it loose, not wanting her neck to be exposed to the cold.

Soon they were all in the car, off to the skiing zone. Michelle stared out the window, wondering if the snow she saw everywhere was real or manmade. Probably the latter, except on the far-off mountains.

She knew Tommy would be in a class with the little kids. Her parents would be skiing with her. They had gone skiing a few times themselves when they were younger. She wished she was in Tommy's class, as degrading as it would be to be placed with four-year-olds. At least she'd learn how.

"Why can't I go with Shelly?" Tommy complained as his parents pointed out his instructor to him.

"Because you don't know how to ski, Tommy," Mrs. Webster explained patiently. "Michelle does."

He pouted and crossed his arms.

Michelle slipped into her skis with some difficulty, requiring her parents' help. She saw Tommy with the other little kids and a young red-haired woman. She was kind of surprised that at least one of her parents wasn't also there to supervise him. The kids were too little to care that they'd be the only parents in their group.

The snow was pointing upwards, like a mountain. She slid one of her skis up a step, then the other. As she took another step, she waved her arms wildly to keep from falling, wondering if it'd be easier with those poles she always saw skiiers with. The next thing she knew, her parents were beside her, giving her directions.

She tuned out their voices as she saw the ski lift next to her. "Can't we go there?" She pointed.

"Alright, but you'll have to ski down," said Mrs. Webster. "We're here to ski, after all."

After riding up the ski lift, grateful Tommy wasn't next to her to sing his rendition of whatever Christmas song, they were facing down the mountain. Michelle remembered you had to make a triangle shape with your skis to stop. Her parents went down first, as gracefully as all the other skiers.

Michelle forced herself to do it without thinking. She tended to think a lot before doing things. She glided down rather neatly, but near the end, she saw a skier in front of her and tried hastily to stop, only to fall forward and trip headfirst into the snow as she swung her arms wildly in an attempt to break her fall, bringing the skier down with her.

She groaned, trying to grasp the snowy ground underneath her. She tried without success to get to her feet, noticing the other girl had already managed to do so.

"I'm so sorry!" exclaimed an embarrassed Michelle. Forcing herself into an upright position, she planted her mittened hands on the snow and tried to stand with all her might, but couldn't. "Could you help me...?"

The girl held out her hand, and Michelle gratefully accepted it as she pulled herself to her fet. "Thank you."

"Watch where you're going!" scolded the girl. She had wavy red hair under a cap, blue eyes, and a disdainful expression on her face.

"I'm sorry," Michelle apologized again.

"What're you doing going skiing when you're such a klutz?" she demanded. "You're—"

"Michelle!" Michelle heard her parents next to her, adding to her embarrassment. "Are you alright?" It was her mother talking. She dusted her off and scanned her up and down as if searching for damage.

"I'm fine," Michelle managed to reply. Thankfully, the girl had left when Michelle glanced sideways. She was quite mean, she decided. "Maybe I do need lessons."

"Don't worry, we all have falls," her father assured. "See, no one even noticed. They see stuff like that all the time."

He was right. Looking around, Michelle saw that everyone was continuing to ski without a glance thrown her way. Then again, it had been a little while since her fall.

She noticed her parents' gazes had travelled to Tommy's class, who was currently trying to climb up the snow.

"Michelle, we're just going to check on your brother, okay? Will you be alright on your own?"

Michelle almost rolled her eyes at her mother's question. She was waiting for her to say that. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Go on."

As her parents disappeared, Michelle pondered her time travel situation. She had to tell someone. She couldn't just keep going back in time. She couldn't reach Anthony's Antiques here. She couldn't tell her parents, or they'd have her locked up in a mental institute.

Actually, maybe she could. All she had to do was prove she was going back in time by stating things that were about to happen.

The only problem with that was that she didn't remember much about today. She could barely remember anything about the year when she was eleven, let alone a specific day. She could tell them things that happened a few weeks or maybe even days later, but by the time those things happened she'd be even further back in time. She wished she had tried telling her parents before, when she remembered what was about to happen, instead of trying to fit in.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to her. She could tell Tommy. At age four, he'd likely believe anything she said. Sure, they couldn't convince their parents, but maybe he could help her... somehow. She had to admit the idea was weak, but it was better than nothing.

As she approached Tommy's class, her parents didn't notice, too busy fussing over Tommy and reminding him he didn't have to do it if it was too scary for him. She couldn't believe she was voluntarily spending time around her brother.

Or could she? She had certainly been doing it a lot over the last few days.

She listened to his instructor reminding the kids of the tips, very basic stuff like turning your foot in the direction you wanted to go, as a small red-haired boy who looked a little like the girl Michelle had run into ascended the hill. After a while, he stopped and turned around, grinning triumphantly about a quarter of the way up the hill.

"Very good!" praised the instructor, clapping and urging the other kids to do the same. A few responded half-heartedly.

"But remember to look ahead of you, not at your skis." She walked closer to the red-haired boy. "Now, Michael, can you try turning to your left? Remember, move your foot."

Michael obliged, moving his foot left as his ski did so as well. He tentatively took another step, then another. At the instructor's suggestion to ski down, he did so, narrowing his skis into a triangle shape to stop.

As she encouraged the other kids to climb up, Michelle walked over to Tommy, who her parents were near. They noticed her then.

"Michelle! What are you doing here?" Her father sounded very surprised.

"Oh, I... uh..." She remembered to put her acting skills in motion. "You see, I don't remember how to ski... well, not as much as I thought... so..." She tried to make it look like this declaration was very hard for her to admit. She privately thought she deserved an Oscar for all the impressive acting she'd been doing during her time travel.

"Ah." Her mother nodded understandingly. "Perfectly alright, dear. Why didn't you say so?"

When her parents turned their attention to the current kid making her ascent up the hill, Michelle tapped Tommy on the shoulder. He ignored her at first, but when she did it more insistently accompanied by a hissed whisper, he turned to her, his face lighting up.

"Shelly!" He tried to wrap his little arms around her legs, the skis getting in the way.

Michelle was taken aback. Tommy had never responded to her this way from her memory. He had looked bored and apathetic with the lesson before she had made her presence known.

She bent down to his level, putting her face near his ear. "Listen, Tommy." She tried to lower her voice, but still make it heard. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" He sounded excited just from her talking to him.

"Tommy, why don't you try now?"

Michelle quickly straightened and pulled him off her at the sound of the instructor's voice, looking away in embarrassment to avoid her parents' glances that were no doubt aimed at her. It had clearly looked like they were hugging. Well, they were, kind of.

"I'll tell you later." She realized it was meaningless to say it after whispering it, since Tommy couldn't hear her.

He looked disappointed as he trudged away from her and reluctantly up the hill. Michelle cringed as she heard her mother speak up, no doubt about to comment on the uncharacteristic show of intimacy.

"It's nice of you to spend time with your brother, Michelle." Her mother sounded surprised and pleased. "I wish you would more. He looks up to you a lot."

"If you told him to ski down from the very top of the mountain, he'd probably do so," added Mr. Webster jokingly.

Tommy looking up to her? The very concept was laughable. And yet, all the evidence seemed to point to it.

After Tommy's turn, the class headed up together, following the instructor closely. When they reached a decent point, they turned another direction. The red-haired boy Michelle had seen was next to them, at the end of the line, walking the quickest and talking animatedly to Tommy, who he had seemed to make friends with.

"I wish I could've gone skiing with my sister," Michelle heard him say. "She's showing off somewhere. She loves doing that. She can be a pain, but she can also be nice."

"My sister, too." Tommy nodded. Michelle couldn't believe he had wanted to go skiing with her, unless it was to annoy her.

"Michael, wait!" the instructor called as he turned around and then abruptly started walking even faster, moving a little way away from the class. Michelle and her family were the closest, being at the end of the line.

The instructor started to go after him when a girl skiing down the hill crashed into him, both of them landing with startled cries and in a heap on the snowy ground. Moving closer, Michelle recognized the girl as the one she had bumped into herself earlier.

"Michael, are you alright?" The instructor helped him disentangle himself from the girl and get to his feet, dusting him off,

His eyes were fixed on the girl as she got up by herself. "Reva!" He sounded exasperated. "Why'd you do that?"

"I'm sorry, Michael," she apologized, looking legitimately concerned for a moment. Then she smiled fiendishly. "But I can't help it if you were in the way, can I?"

Michael cried out in anger as Reva laughed. The instructor fell silent, not seeming to see the need to intervene. "You're such a pain! I'm glad I didn't go skiing with you."

Reva's expression softened. "I'm sorry I couldn't. Maybe we can go skiing together tomorrow, okay?" She stepped closer and ran her hand gently once through his red hair.

"Okay," he agreed reluctantly.

Reva looked up, seeming to notice the class and instructor. "Sorry about that. Hope my brother's not giving you a hard time." Before giving her a chance to reply, she skied off, leaving a disappointed-looking Michael.

Michelle had assumed the girl was his sister before she had said so. She had felt a pang of deja vu when he said he had wanted to ski with her, and was surprised by how gentle she had become afterward. She seemed to care about her brother, even if she was quite hostile towards Michelle earlier.

As the kids continued through the snowy hill, toward the ski lift, Michelle turned to Tommy. "So, I was going to tell you..." Noticing her parents, she bent lower. "I've already been here before."

He looked at her. "You mean last year?"

"Shh!" She tried to quieten him, noticing her parents turning to stare at her. She lowered her voice. "You can't tell anyone. It's a secret."

His eyes widened, like Michelle trusting him with a secret was the best thing to ever happen to him. "What kind of—oof!" She clamped her hand over his mouth.

She nodded toward the ski lift they were approaching. Taking the hint, he fell silent, listening to the instructor tell them how to get off after reaching the top. She went on for quite a while, repeating herself a lot, and Michelle listened intently.

"Does she think she hasn't already said to lift the safety bar ten times?" one of the older kids quipped under her breath, causing her friend to giggle.

As they boarded the lift, Michelle was careful to take a seat with her brother, blocking Michael out of the way when he tried to. She gave him an apologetic look.

"Why do that?" grumbled Tommy. "I wanted to sit with Michael."

"I have to tell you, okay?" said Michelle. "Just you."

He brightened again at that. "Tell me what?"

Michelle hesitated. For a moment, she considered not telling him anything, What was the point? It wasn't like he could do anything about it.

"Shelly?" she heard him ask.

She tok a deep breath. "Listen, I think I'm... going back in time.

He gasped. "What?"

"I know it sounds weird. But it's true." Michelle paused. "It started when I was fifteen. Dad got a new clock, and..."

When she had finished explaining, Tommy stared at her, wide-eyed. "Wow."

"Do you believe me?" Michelle couldn't stop the pleading tone that crept into her voice. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true."

He was silent for a moment. "But why mess the clock?"

Michelle cringed. She had tried to gloss over that part of the story, hoping Tommy didn't pay much attention to it. "I, uh..."

Should she lie? Say she just felt like pranking her dad?

No. She should tell the truth. She needed him to know every detail. Why did she care about hurting Tommy's feelings, anyway?

"I wanted to get you in trouble," she admitted. "I thought if I messed with the clock's head, Dad would blame you, since you were messing with it earlier."

"Why?" He sounded sad, turning puppy dog eyes on her. Damn. She had forgot how much he used them at that age.

"I wanted to get back at you, I guess," she admitted. "Mom and Dad were always blaming me for everything and letting you get away with everything."

"Why?" She had also forgotten how much he liked asking that question at that age.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I guess because you're younger."

"But why get back at me?" His puppy eyes were in full force now.

She turned her attention back to the front. They were almost at the top now. "I was... mad at you. For ruining my Christmas party."

"How?"

"You ruined all my presents." She didn't go more in depth, not considering it important. "And Mom and Dad didn't do anything. I just got mad."

"I sorry, Shelly." She turned back to him, seeing an adorable pout on his face.

She tried to brush it off. "Don't worry about it. You were only eight. Anyway, how—"

At her brother's squeal, Michelle whipped her head forward, realizing they were almost at the top. She lifted the safety bar just in time and, grabbing her brother's arm, stood up and slid down, squealing as they slipped and landed in a heap. The instructor rushed forward to help them up, but Michelle squealed as she felt the kids behind her bump into her, sending her down again.

"Michelle!"

"Michael! Are you alright?"

The people calling were her parents and the red-haired girl, Reva. She helped her brother up before Michelle felt the ski instructor and her parents help them up.

"Are you alright, dear?" Michelle assumed the question was directed at her, before noticing her parents fussing over Tommy, who was noticeably distressed.

Michelle turned her attention to Reva, who was telling her brother, "You really are a klutz." But there was an affectionate tone in her voice, and none of the genuine disdain she had when telling Michelle the same thing. She then ran a hand through his curly red hair, causing him to back away and scowl.

"Hey." Michelle spun around to see the red-haired instructor behind her. "Don't worry about that. A lot of little kids take falls."

"But I'm not a little kid," Michelle pointed out.

"Maybe not," she conceded. "Just remember the rules next time." She smiled slightly. "I'd bore you with all the safety tips again, but I've been told it's annoying of me."

"I was listening," said Michelle.

"I saw. I think you were the only one," she noted. "You know, I sometimes work at a summer camp, and the kids there joked that having so many rules was the camp's curse. That, and my insistence on following them."

"Oh." Michelle didn't really know what to say.

"I'm Liz, by the way. What's your name? I can't remember you being in my class."

"Michelle. My brother's Tommy," she informed.

"So you came to check up on him?"

"And to learn how to ski," she explained.

"Well, if you felt embarrassed about being in a class with little kids, there are ones for older people too," Liz informed. "Even adults."

Just then, Michelle's parents came over. "Michelle, are you alright?" Her mother dusted her off as she turned around.

"Fine, Mom," she replied, slightly embarrassed at being treated like a little kid.

"Well, we best get going," Liz spoke up, instructing each of the kids to follow her.

Michelle watched the little kids line up. She did feel better now that she had told Tommy everything, but she wanted some time alone now. She knew there wasn't much she could do without making it to Anthony's Antiques, and she felt more informed about skiing.

"I think I want to ski by myself now," she told her mother.

"Alright, dear. Yell to us if you need anything." She patted the top of her head.

"I will." Michelle slid over and made her way down the hill while Liz was instructing the other kids how to. She enjoyed the feeling of gliding down, feeling confident and free. She remembered why she had loved skiing so much.

As she was near the bottom, she felt a heavy force crash into her, sending her crashing face-first into the snow. How many times had that happened, exactly?

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she heard an embarrassed voice apologize, exactly how she had done to Reva.

She felt the girl's weight get off her, and then a hand helping her to her feet. Accepting it, she saw it was a boy, not the same girl who had crashed into her.

Turning around, she saw a very tall girl looking down and biting one of her nails, clearly embarrassed. Something about her seemed familiar to Michelle.

She looked up once she saw Michelle staring at her, a blush tainting her cheeks. "I'm so sorry," she apologized again. "I—"

"Sarah, didn't I tell you to go slower?" the boy reprimanded. He was quite a bit shorter than her. "You weren't listening. I was yelling for you to stop."

She scowled at him. "Okay, I get it! I just couldn't hear you all that well. Geez."

"I told you a million times—"

"You didn't need to!" she snapped. "I knew what to do."

The boy rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, I'm sure you—"

"Michelle?" Michelle jumped at the sound of her name. Sarah was staring straight at her.

Michelle remembered now. She had been friends with Sarah when she was younger, in primary school. Well, sort of. They didn't interact too much and she had much closer friends, though they did sit together at lunch and get along well. She also remembered her being rather shy and awkward.

Realizing she was waiting for a response, Michelle said, "Oh, hi, Sarah. I didn't know you'd be here."

She noticed Sarah's brother trying to leave, obviously grateful for the opportunity. She couldn't remember his name.

Sarah glanced sideways, noticing him leaving too, and then turned back to Michelle. "Oh, I didn't want to. I don't really like skiing."

"Then why'd you come here?" If what she remembered about Sarah was accurate, Michelle already knew the answer.

"Because of my parents. Well, them and my brother," she explained. "He loves this kind of stuff."

Michelle nodded. Sarah's parents were always forcing her to try out new things, much to her annoyance. "It seems like he ditched you."

"Oh, I could tell he wanted to do that for a while," admitted Sarah. "To be honest, the feeling's mutual."

"But why? He's just trying to help." Michelle was a bit annoyed by the way Sarah had snapped at him. True, she did the same thing to Michael, but only when he was being an annoying pest. Her brother seemed like he was just trying to be helpful, even if he was a bit annoying about it.

"I know," sighed Sarah. "It's just... embarrassing. I mean, he's younger than me, and he acts older. I know he's trying to help, but..." She paused, looking embarrassed.

"I get it," said Michelle, though she didn't, not really. She'd love for Tommy to be helpful to her. Well, since he was so much younger than her, it _would_ be quite degrading. But it was different, since Sarah's brother seemed only a year or two younger than her. "But it was nice of him to help. I mean, he could've just gone skiing by himself instead of helping you."

"He didn't really have a choice," retorted Sarah. "I mean, my parents made him look after me. Well, not look after, but... you know, made sure I knew what to do and everything. Neither of us were happy about it."

"Couldn't they help you instead?" asked Michelle.

"Oh, they're not much for skiing," explained Sarah. "They came here for Aaron. If anything, I should be looking after him. I'm older."

"It's probably just because he's better at skiing than you," suggested Michelle.

Sarah sighed. "I guess, but I have a feeling that even if I wasn't, they'd make him look after me. Just because I have..." She paused. "Nevermind."

"What?"

"Nothing." Michelle suspected she knew what Sarah was talking about. She remembered asking one of her teachers why Sarah was acting so weird when she was just trying to be friendly. She had said she was shy, but she also said something else. Something about her having autism. It was when Michelle had learned what that word meant. "But he is trying to help."

"I know, but..." Sarah paused, as if trying to think of something. "You have a brother, right? How would you like it if he was looking over your shoulder all the time?"

"That'd be weird. He's eigh... four," Michelle quickly amended.

Sarah sighed exasperatedly. "Yeah, but... oh, you know what I mean. If he was older, would it feel any less weird?"

Michelle thought about it. Tommy was even more of a brat when he was older, so if, for some reason, her parents put him in charge of her, it'd be even easier for him to make her miserable.

But... if he took care of her the same way Aaron seemed to do for Sarah, a bit bossy and dismissive, but still taking time to help... she'd really like it, honestly.

"To be honest? I'd like it," she admitted. "I mean, it would be a bit annoying, but not more annoying than my brother is."

"Your brother's cute."

"Maybe now, but not so much at home, I tell ya," informed Michelle, talking about his later years.

Sarah spun her head around, hearing a loud, whooping laugh. Aaron was gliding down the snow next to two other boys, before coming to a graceful stop and chatting to them. Something he said made one of the boys laugh and playfully punch him on the shoulder.

Michelle wondered whether she should speak up as Sarah continued to stare at them. She decided to leave instead. Maybe it was rude, but from what she remembered of Sarah, she didn't like talking to people all that much.

"Sarah, what's wrong?" She was about to head off when she heard a voice. It was Aaron, He had realized Sarah staring at them. She turned around to watch.

"Oh, nothing," replied Sarah, beginning to turn around.

But Aaron came up to her, ignoring his friends as they expressed their annoyance. "Do you want me to help you again?"

"No! It's fine," she insisted.

"If you do, it's fine," he said. "I'm sorry for leaving. But, you know, I wanted to do my own thing."

"But what about your friends?"

"They can wait a bit, can't they?" shrugged Aaron. "Besides, they have each other for company."

Sarah paused for a moment, then said, "No, really. You can go. I'll be fine."

Aaron hesitated. "Well, if you say so..."

Sarah turned around as he left. "Oh, Michelle. I didn't know you were still here."

"Why'd you tell him to leave?" asked Michelle. "He really wanted to help you."

"I don't like skiing much, anyway," shrugged Sarah. "The last thing I need is Aaron showing off how much better he knows than me."

Michelle got an idea. "Why don't I help you?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. I was watching my brother in his ski class, and I learned quite a bit."

"So you're teaching me what you were taught?" surmised Sarah.

"Yeah, pretty much," admitted Michelle. "It really is fun if you give it a try."

She paused. "Well... alright. But just for a little bit."

"First off, if you want to move your ski, move your foot..."

She talked to Sarah for a while. She was annoyed at first, saying her brother had already taught her all this, but learned some tips did help, such as relaxing her body. Michelle noticed she tensed up while skiing, likely from nervousness.

"Aaron tried to tell me to relax, but I just snapped at him," recalled Sarah.

"I hope you won't snap at me," joked Michelle.

She also kept her eyes focused on her skis instead of in front of her. When Michelle told her not to, Sarah said she was just scared of crashing like she did before.

"You're more likely to crash if you don't look where you're going," pointed out Michelle.

"Yeah, that's true." She looked up, but then tensed up again.

"You're doing it again."

Sarah tried to relax, but found it difficult while also looking where she was going. "I guess I can only do one or the other," she surmised.

"It's fine." Michelle walked closer to Sarah. "At least try to relax your toes."

Sarah seemed to do so, though the rest of her body was still rigid. She walked forward slowly a few steps, before going a bit faster.

"See! You're doing it!" praised Michelle.

"No! I can't," cried Sarah. "I'm sorry, but skiing just isn't for me. It's too hard, and it's too cold, and I just don't want to." The look on her face was pure panic and agitation.

"Okay, okay," conceded Michelle. "Sorry if I wasted your time."

"No, it's fine," amended Sarah. "Thanks for trying to teach me. I'm just not very good at it." She paused. "I never told Aaron that."

"Huh?"

"I just snapped at him for being bossy and forcing me. I never thought that he was actually trying to help me and I wasn't trying to learn."

"But you are trying to learn," Michelle pointed out.

"With you, maybe. But with Aaron, I refused to even try. I was just mad about having to go skiing and him bossing me around. He was probably mad at me, too." She craned her neck, as if trying to search for her brother. "Thank you, Michelle, but I think I have to leave. I have to tell Aaron something."

"Go ahead," said Michelle. She watched Sarah proceed up the hill, much more confidently than before. After a while, she spotted her brother with some friends. They had stopped skiing and were talking amongst themselves. After a while, Sarah went up to Aaron and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and they started talking. Michelle watched them, trying to guess what they were saying.

Then Sarah, Aaron, and the other boys positioned their skis and pointed left. Aaron went first, then Sarah, then the other boys.

"Michelle!" Michelle turned her head as she heard her mother calling, along with her father and brother. Their cheeks were rosy and their hair was dishevelled, most of it exposed from under their caps. They looked like they'd had the time of their lives. "It's time to leave, dear."

"Tommy here wants to stay longer," informed Mr. Webster, gesturing to Tommy who was bouncing up and down and whining. "Hope you won't give us the same trouble."

"Oh, no," said Michelle quickly. "I've had enough skiing for one day."

"You hear that, bud?" Mr. Webster looked down at Tommy. "It's two against one."

Tommy's lower lip trembled, and he let out an ear-splitting wail. Michelle cringed and raised her gloved hands to her ears. Her mother did the same.

"Alright, alright," conceded Mr. Webster. "Just five more minutes. But I really mean it, five more minutes. Not six, not seven—"

"Yayy!" Tommy stopped crying so quickly it made Michelle doubt the sincerity of his tears and ran towards her, almost stumbling but managing to catch his balance. "Ski, Shel!"

Michelle felt her irritation subside at the arms around her waist. She gently pried his hands off, and he tried to run in the other direction.

"Don't worry, Shel," Mr. Webster told her. "I bet in about thirty seconds, he'll be so exhausted he'll pass out."

He was partially right. After about a minute, Mr. Webster returned with Tommy in his arms to Michelle and her mother, who were standing in the same spot.

"Back so soon?" asked Mrs. Webster with a knowing tone in her voice.

"The little guy wore himself out," explained Mr. Webster, looking down at Tommy affectionately. "Can you blame him?"

A few minutes later, they had changed out of their skis and was in the heated car, Tommy asleep in his baby seat.

"When we go home, we'll relax and have a nice dinner later," decided Mrs. Webster. The idea sounded very appealing to Michelle. "Did you enjoy skiing, Michelle?"

"Yeah. It was great," replied Michelle truthfully.


	12. Chapter 12

Dinner came too quickly for Michelle's liking. She wanted to spend the whole day sprawled on her bed in her warmest clothes. She was just about to drift off when she heard her mother knock on her door.

"Dear, it's time to get ready for dinner."

Michelle groaned instead of replying.

"Michelle, did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Mom. Just give me a minute."

She forced herself to sit up on her bed. She was in a sweater over yoga pants. Her mouth was dry from lying on her bed for so long, and her tongue was still a bit scorched from the hot chocolate they had at the cafe they had stopped at for lunch.

Soon they were all in the car, Michelle dressed in the sleek red dress she'd donned in the morning. Tommy was now wide awake, while Michelle was still half asleep. Tommy was trying his hardest to get her attention, waving his little hand in her face and talking. She ignored him, drifting off to sleep in the car.

She found herself drowsily awakening as they reached the restaurant. She blinked sleepily as her family got out of the car, shivering in the frigid air despite the jacket and scarf she was wearing.

She felt better as they entered the warm, cosy, dimly lit restaurant. There was some Christmas song playing overhead. The place was Christmas decorated, with shiny tinsel hanging from the walls and holly scattered on the tables.

They took a seat at a table where Tommy immediately reached for the red and green candles, causing his mother to grab his hand back. Michelle hung her jacket over the back of her chair and scanned one of the menus. There was a specially made Christmas section with options like elf cookies, frosted candy canes, and Christmas cake.

"This place has a lot of good options," said Mrs. Webster, scanning her own menu. "There's even a vegan section."

Mr. Webster groaned. "Don't tell me you're going to go vegan as well as stick to this diet."

"Maybe not vegan," conceded Mrs. Webster. "But I have thought about going gluten free. I was reading this health book that illustrated the risks of consuming gluten—"

Michelle drowned her mother out with a silent sigh. When her mom started talking about health, she never stopped.

"What about you, Shel?" Mrs. Webster stopped talking when she realized her husband had interrupted her. She fixed him with an annoyed glare.

Michelle scanned the menu again. "The beef stew, I guess."

"And you, Monsieur Tommy?" he asked jokingly. Tommy seemed to be playing with the kids menu more than reading it. "You sure look like you're carefully assessing your options."

"Chicken nuggets and fries," Mrs. Webster surmised without looking up from her menu. "The usual for him."

"I'm surprised you're not insisting he eat healthier, too," joked Mr. Webster.

Mrs. Webster put the menu down and fixed him with a disapproving frown. "Herman, I wish you'd be more encouraging about this diet plan of mine. It's hard enough sticking to it without you poking fun at me at every opportunity."

Mr. Webster looked surprised. "Honey, I'm not trying to—"

"Of course you aren't." With a huff, she returned to her menu.

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, beef stew for Michelle, and chicken nuggets for Tommy," surmised Mr. Webster. "And for me..." He flipped through the menu. "I'm going to try something different. How about... an exotic chicken salad?"

Mrs. Webster laughed behind her menu. "Very funny, dear."

"No, I'm serious," insisted Mr. Webster. "The description does sound pretty appetizing. An exotic, gourmet salad with roast chicken, fried tomatoes, fresh basil leaves—"

"If you can eat something like that, I'll order a whole chocolate cake."

"Deal."

"What?" She looked up from her menu. "Herman, I didn't mean—"

"Aren't you always pressuring me to eat healthier?" retorted Mr. Webster.

"And you're always pressuring me not to eat healthier."

"Exactly. So why don't we take each other's advice for once?"

She huffed. "That's different. You don't tell me to eat a whole chocolate cake."

"But it's Christmas," noted Mr. Webster. "Surely you can cut yourself some slack. And, tell you what, I'll even eat whatever you serve for breakfast tomorrow."

"Whatever I serve?" A wry smile crossed her lips.

Mr. Webster sighed. "I already regret saying that, but yes. So, Sharon, do we have a deal?"

"I feel like a teenager," sighed Mrs. Webster. "Oh, alright."

"I knew you had it in you!" cheered Mr. Webster.

"But the cake is only for dessert, and only whatever quantity they have it in."

"Who are you rooting for, Michelle?" Mrs. Webster turned to Michelle, seeming to ignore his wife's last statement. "Just kidding, I know you want me to win. Your mother can't have one slice of cake without thinking about the calories nowadays."

"You can't have one bit of salad either," retorted Michelle.

"She has a point," noted Mrs. Webster with a smirk.

"So what sugary treat will you have for your meal?" asked Mr. Webster.

"I said I'd have it for dessert," Mrs. Webster pointed out.

"But that's not fair. I have to pick the salad."

"You can have dessert too. So it is fair," retorted Mrs. Webster.

"Fine," conceded Mr. Webster. "I guess you want the chicken salad as well?"

"Something a little healthier than that." She scanned the menu. "To make up for the sugar I'll be digesting later."

"Healthier?" Mr. Webster repeated incredulously. "What could possibly be healthier?"

"How about this gourmet cabbage soup?"

Mr. Webster put on a horrified look. "Cabbage soup? You're kidding."

"You're right, I am," she admitted. "It's vegetable soup."

His expression didn't soften. "Like that makes it better?"

Michelle found such playful repartee between her parents refreshing. They rarely bantered or argued without anger or frustration.

A short while later, the waiter arrived. "What will you be having?"

"Chicken salad, ca—vegetable soup, chicken nuggets and fries... what did you want, Michelle?"

Michelle strained to remember her order as the waiter scribbled in his pad. "With or without dressing?"

"Huh?"

"The cabbage soup, sir."

"Uh..." Mr. Webster looked at his wife, silently asking. She smirked in response. "Without," he replied gloomily.

"Is that it?" asked the waiter.

"What do you want, Michelle?" Mrs. Webster repeated.

"Beef stew," she said, suddenly remembering.

As the waiter left, Michelle quickly found herself bored. She usually was at restaurants. Usually she'd do her hair or nails to pass time. She hadn't brought her hairbrush or nail polish. She didn't think she even had nail polish or makeup at eleven.

She thought about what would happen when she woke up the next day. She's probably be two years younger, as the pattern showed. She was eleven now, so she'd be nine. She hoped she'd be back at her house. Her only hope was getting to Anthony's Antiques.

"Shelly, look!" Tommy interrupted her thoughts by shoving the scribbling he'd done in the coloring in section of the kids menu in her face.

"Er, very nice, Tommy." He had drawn over the outline with a bunch of blue and purple scribbles with the crayons provided, not making any effort to stay in the lines.

Tommy beamed as if she'd told him it was the best picture she'd ever seem. "I draw something." He picked up a crayon and started drawing again.

When she tried to lean over to see what it was, he held his little hand up. "No!"

She realized he didn't want her to look until he was finished coloring. She obediently looked away, still thinking about how to stop the time travel and get back to her fifteen-year-old self. Hell, she'd even relive the infamous Christmas party if it meant things would get back to normal.

"Look!" She turned her head upon hearing Tommy's voice. On the back of the paper, he had drawn a picture. If you could even call it that. If Michelle squinted, it looked vaguely like a very tall, very misshapen person in red and beige.

"Very nice, Tommy," she repeated dismissively.

"What is it?" He beamed at her.

"Uh..." She inspected the picture. She could vaguely see a circle under brown scribbles, and a red rectangle a bit underneath, with two lines each sticking out of two sides.

When she didn't reply for a while, Tommy spoke up. "You don't know?" His face fell, his lower lip trembling.

Michelle knew she'd likely get an earful from her parents when he started crying. "Uh..." She wracked her brains. What could a rectangle with lines under a scribbled over circle represent? Suddenly, an idea struck her and she went with it, hoping that it was right. "Is it me?"

The joyful look on Tommy's face confirmed her guess. "You do know!" He leaned over and hugged her.

A few minutes later, Michelle was bored again. She took her scarf off and placed it on the table, tying several small, loose knots into it for her amusement.

Just then, the waitress arrived with the beef stew. Michelle's parents gestured to her, and the waitress placed the bowl in front of her. As the waitress left, Michelle scattered the croutons over the stew. The smell was tantalizing, and she decided to focus only on her meal and forget about the time travel going on.

The spoon was up to her lips when she felt a hot, burning pain in her lap. She cried out and let go of the spoon, getting it on her lap as well. Looking at the table, she saw stew spilled everywhere and Tommy crying and holding her scarf over his hand. It was quickly soaking up the stew that had spilled there.

Michelle hissed and lifted her dress from her thighs, waiting for the burning to recede. She grabbed napkins from her handbag and wiped them over her thighs.

"Don't cry, honey," she heard her mother soothe as she held Tommy in her lap. He buried his head into her chest, wailing as if his hand had been cut off. Mr. Webster had was gently patting him on the back.

A waitress came over to their table. "May I help you?"

"Oh, the soup spilled on him," explained Mrs. Webster, before returning to shushing Tommy

"I'm awfully sorry to hear that. Shall I get some napkins?"

"Yes, please. That'd be great." Mrs. Webster tried to talk to the waitress and soothe Tommy at the same time.

"We'll get you another soup, of course. Which one was it?"

After Mrs. Webster told her and the waitress left, she returned to soothing Tommy, shushing him and running her fingers through his hair. Michelle cringed, aware of the people staring at them. Thankfully, most of them turned away once they realized it was just a crying toddler.

As the worst of Tommy's crying abated, a waiter returned with a box of napkins and his meal. Mrs. Webster took a very generous amount—unnecessary, in Michelle's opinion—and wiped them over his body as if he had been bathing in soup. She held a fry up to his mouth, but he didn't eat it. Instead, he gazed at Michelle from across the table, now sitting normally on his mother's lap instead of with his head buried.

He sniffled, tears still running down his chubby cheeks. "I sorry, Shelly."

"Huh?" Michelle was taken aback.

"I try to take your scarf. I want to try it on. But I spill soup." His face crumpled, and he looked like he was going to cry again.

Of course, Mrs. Webster hugged him tighter. "It's not your fault, dear. It was just an accident."

He sniffled. "But—"

"I'm sure Michelle understands," cut in Mr. Webster. "Right, Michelle?"

Michelle rolled her eyes, knowing her mother couldn't see her as she was too focused on Tommy. "Yeah. Totally."

She did recognize the sarcasm in her voice, and shot her a glare before returning to Tommy. Michelle resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. Her parents hadn't even asked if she was okay.

Suddenly, she realized something. Tommy had genuinely felt remorseful for spilling soup. If not, he was an incredibly talented child actor. It was her parents who had brushed his apologies off. Eight-year-old Tommy never seemed to feel remorse for all the things he did to Michelle. Perhaps his parents taught him not to.

When Michelle and her parents' orders arrived, she made sure Tommy was at the end of the table and the soup was away from the edge of the table before trying it. It tasted as good as it smelled. She was almost more invested in it than her father trying to eat his salad.

"I like chicken," he said, spearing a piece onto his fork as if to prove it. "So it can't be that bad, right?" He took a nibble, making an exaggerated face. "Is this real chicken?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Webster as she raised her spoon to her mouth. "If anything, it's realer than the fried rubbish you usually eat."

"Well, it's... not bad," Mr. Webster admitted. "A little bland, but nothing a little gravy and salt can't fix."

"You do realize that would negate the health factor, right?" noted Mrs. Webster.

"Oh, Sharon. I'm sure the leaves are more than enough to make up for the added calories." His eyes travelled to the salt shaker at the middle of the table.

"Herman..."

"Please?" he begged, sounding like a hyper toddler. "I won't put much on, and I'll still eat the salad."

"Oh, alright," she conceded. "I'm not that cruel. But if you lie and cover it all in the stuff, I'm winning the bet."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He kept his word, only adding a light sprinkle to his salad. He nibbled a piece of chicken with the salt. "A little better."

"Now are you going to have your first real bite?" asked Mrs. Webster. "You've taste tested the chicken enough."

"Give me some time, will you? You shouldn't rush a food critic." He gathered basil leaves, lettuce, chicken, and a tomato onto his fork and forced it into his mouth.

"How was it?" asked Mrs. Webster with a smirk.

"It's... fine," he replied after a pause. "The lettuce is too bitter, but the tomato and basil leaves aren't bad."

"See. Was that so torturous?" she asked.

"Ye– no," he replied.

He ate the rest of his salad with complaint, though he left most of the lettuce untouched. Tommy had calmed down after eating his meal. He was smiling and bouncing in his mother's lap.

"Try the soup," suggested Mrs. Webster.

Mr. Webster made a face. "Don't push it."

"No, really! It's good. Honest." She took a spoonful as if to demonstrate.

"I think I'll have dessert instead." He scanned the menu. "How about something from the Christmas section?"

Mrs. Webster groaned. "Here goes my hard work..."

"Oh, come on, Shar. One slice of cake won't kill you."

"No, but it might kill my diet." She scanned the menu, grimacing.

"Shall I pick for you?"

"No!" she interrupted. "I'll have the chocolate fudge brownie." She actually grimaced after saying it.

"I'll need something just as good to wash out the salad," remarked Mr. Webster.

"I thought you enjoyed it?"

"Yes, but I'd enjoy a... caramel Christmas cake just as much. Maybe even more."

"And you, Michelle?" asked Mrs. Webster.

"Um..." Michelle looked at the dessert section. "Vanilla ice cream."

"That's it?" teased Mr. Webster. "Show some adventure, Shel."

"I should've chosen that!" groaned Mrs. Webster.

"And you, Tommy?"

"Ice cream! Ice cream!" the little boy chanted.

"Hmm... I couldn't hear him that well, but I think he said... ice cream?" joked Mr. Webster. "And what flavor?"

"Chocolate! Chocolate!"

"I think he said vanilla too. Michelle, what have you told him?"

Tommy frowned in exasperation. "Chocolate! Chocolate!"

"Okay, okay."

When their desserts arrived, Michelle absent-mindedly licked the ice cream on her spoon while watching her mother stare at the brownie the way Tommy stared at brussel sprouts. Her father was tearing into his cake almost the same way Tommy was tearing into his ice cream.

Had this deal actually caused her parents to become Tommy? Now that was a horrifying thought.

Her mother forced the brownie into her mouth. "You know... even though I can actually feel the calories rolling in, damn if it's not delicious."

"Didn't I tell you?" grinned Mr. Webster. "You should try this cake. It's not half bad."

"Don't push it," echoed Mrs. Webster.

She wiped Tommy's chocolate-stained face with the napkins provided after she was done eating. "You know, that wasn't as good as I expected," she told Mr. Webster. "I mean, it was good at first, but then... I don't know. I've been avoiding chocolate for so long it doesn't taste as good to me."

"In that case, remind me not to go on a diet," quipped Mr. Webster.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, the first thing Michelle did was look around to check she was back in her own bed. She almost yelled in joy when she saw she was. This would be the day. Today, she'd get the cuckoo clock and the spell reversed.

She could never quite get used to seeing herself in the mirror. She felt like she was looking at a stranger this time. She was nine, with a childish youth to her features. She'd almost call herself cute. She had floppy hair, freckles all over her cheeks, and a round, chubby face.

As she walked into the bedroom, she wasn't surprised to see the decorations and waffles on the table. She was, however, surprised to see her mother eating them along with her father. Her plate didn't have whipped cream like his, but she was eating just as ravenously. She paused to offer Tommy a piece, which he happily accepted. He was two now, as Michelle did the math, with a mop of sandy blonde hair and a bowl of chocolate yogurt in front of him. He seemed far more interested in the waffles.

"Save some for me," joked Mrs. Webster as she offered him another piece. She had mousy brown hair that framed her face, one side tucked behind her ear, and glasses. So did Michelle's father. She had forgotten her parents wore glasses when they were younger.

Michelle took a seat at the table, scooping waffles onto her plate and slathering them with whipped cream. They tasted as amazing as her mother's cooking usually did. That is, her mother's less healthy cooking. Michelle found it ironic she was such a health nut, and yet so much better at cooking unhealthy food.

Tommy looked up, his mouth coated with crumbs and whipped cream. His face lit up upon seeing Michelle. "Shelly! Shelly!" He clapped his hands excitedly.

"He's been asking for you all morning, Michelle," said Mrs Webster.

"But the waffles quickly took his mind off you," added Mr. Webster jokingly.

She decided to approach the subject. "Dad, about the cuckoo clock..."

"Michelle!" Her father sounded excited. "You remembered."

"How could she not?" joked Mrs. Webster. "You kept going on about how you fell in love with it as soon as you laid eyes on it at the store. I was starting to feel jealous."

"But you dozed off while I was talking about it," noted Mr. Webster.

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's true. You did as well, didn't you, Michelle?"

"I was wondering, have you got it yet?" asked Michelle with trepidation.

"No, thank god. If he did, he'd never shut up about it," her mother pointed out.

"Why the sudden interest, Shel?" asked Mr. Webster. "Do you want it as well?"

"Oh, no." Michelle paused. "I mean, not really. I was just wondering. It's at Anthony's Antiques, right?"

"Yes. More like Anthony's Overpriced," sighed Mr. Webster. "I really don't understand why he couldn't sell it to me. I asked so politely."

"Sure you did." Mrs. Webster rolled her eyes. She quickly turned her attention to Tommy, who was reaching to her plate across his high chair. She gently swatted his hand. "If you want your own plate, you could just ask."

"Pancakes," he babbled.

"Am I really that bad a cook?" Mrs. Webster asked Michelle. "He thinks my waffles are pancakes."

"And that pancakes are waffles," added Mr. Webster.

Once they finished breakfast, Michelle managed to ask, "What are we doing today again?" She knew she'd look weird if it looked like she forgot, but she didn't care. She needed to know if it was possible to get to the cuckoo clock.

"Oh, nothing much," replied Mrs. Webster as she stood up with her plate. "We're just having a nice, lazy Christmas at home."

"Christmas! Christmas!" chanted Tommy.

"Sounds like he likes the idea of that," noted Mr. Webster. "And you, Shel?"

"It's... fine," she replied, somewhat honestly. It'd be better if they were going out somewhere so she could get to the shop, but she supposed this was fine too. She could always ask her parents if she could go out somewhere.

"You know, I've been wanting to buy a new coffee table for a while," remarked Mr. Webster as he came out of the kitchen. "This one is rather worn out, don't you think?"

Mrs. Webster groaned. "Herman..."

"No, really! Just look at it. Come on." Mr. Webster disappeared into the living room, and Mrs. Webster reluctantly followed him. Michelle followed as well.

"See? It's practically falling to pieces." It was an exaggeration, but not by much. Part of one leg was missing, it was chipped and crooked, and the table was smeared with dried paint and mashed up food. Michelle didn't have to guess why.

"It could use some cleaning," conceded Mrs. Webster.

"Some cleaning?" Mr. Webster repeated incredulously. "What it needs is a replacement."

"I know you're just looking for an excuse to get to Anthony's Antiques."

"Well... yes," admitted Mr. Webster. "But just to get a new coffee table, I swear! You said it yourself, it's falling to pieces. And I'll go by myself later, so you don't have to come."

"I'll go with you." Michelle spoke up before she could stop herself.

"What? Why?" Her father sounded surprised.

"Uh... no reason." Michelle couldn't think of an excuse.

"That's a good idea, actually," said her mother. "Michelle can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't buy anything except a coffee table."

"And you can't do it yourself?" he asked.

"I have to watch over Tommy."

With a sigh, Mr. Webster turned to Michelle. "Well, you heard her, Michelle. You have to keep your dad in line."

"I will," she promised, sounding amused but inwardly excited.

"I'll hold you to it," her mother said.

When they returned to the den, Tommy was toddling around on the floor. Mrs. Webster scooped him into her arms and planted a kiss on his forehead. "What would you like to do today, honey?"

"Susie! Susie!" he squealed.

Mr. Webster sighed. "Not that video again... please, anything but that..."

"Oh, Herman. It's not that bad. And it's perfect for Christmas."

Soon the family was spread out in the den, watching A Holly Jolly Holiday on the television. Michelle cringed whenever she heard the main character's sickeningly sweet voice. Tommy had loved that movie, but she hated it. She stuffed one of the gingerbread cookies her mother had baked on the plate next to her into her mouth. It was as sweet as the movie, but far less sickening.

"Itty bitty please with Christmas trees!" chirped the main character, Susie Snowflake.

"Susie! Susie!" Tommy squealed that whenever she appeared onscreen. He seemed to think that was the title of the movie.

After the movie, it was time for presents. Well, actually, her mother wanted to open them later, but Tommy had made such a fuss about them. Michelle was surprised they were getting presents today at all. Her parents usually gave them their presents the day after Christmas, or even a few days after. She didn't know why. It was a weird tradition they had.

When they all gathered at the huge Christmas tree in the living room, Mrs. Webster slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh no!"

"What?" asked Michelle.

"Michelle, I'm so sorry," she apologized. "I forgot to get any presents for you."

"It's fine," she replied honestly. Ordinarily, she would've been upset, but she couldn't care less about presents when her mind was on getting to Anthony's Antiques.

"I'll get you something tomorrow," Mrs. Webster continued. Trying to joke, she added, "Shame I can't blame it on Santa this time."

Michelle felt a memory resurface. She had found out Santa wasn't real when she was eight. She had suspected he favored her brother over her, since he always got so many more presents, and thought it was unfair. She had stayed up all night, intending to give Santa a piece of her mind, only for him not to come. Instead, her father did, and she saw him place the presents under the tree in the dead of night. The next morning, she confronted her parents about it, and they tried to come up with excuses, but had to tell her the truth.

Her parents returned their attention to the finely wrapped presents under the tree. Tommy toddled over to one and reached for it with his chubby little hands, tearing at the silvery wrapping. His mother clambered over to help him, and they quickly uncovered a stuffed animal that looked like some kind of horse.

"Cooz-ca! Cooz-ca!" Tommy babbled, hugging it to his chest.

"I think that Disney movie's the only one he loves more the Susie Snowflake one," Mrs. Webster told Michelle. She remembered how he used to be obsessed with The Emperor's New Groove. She liked the movie too, so she didn't mind it as much as a Holly Jolly Holiday, but it was still a little irritating to hear the main song so many times.

Michelle watched Tommy open all his other presents. She privately thought it was unnecessary for him to have so many. He was only two, after all. What could he do with a jigsaw puzzle?

"Shelly." Tommy toddle over to her, a huge grin on his dimpled face and a rubber ball in his hands. He dropped it onto the floor, and it bounced a good distance up and then back down before Tommy caught it. He held it out to her.

"No, Tommy." Mrs. Webster came over to him, taking the ball from his hand. "That's your present. Michelle can have her one later."

Michelle now knew Tommy wasn't so bad. It was her parents who ignored and excused his bad behavior. Even when he was trying to be nice, they didn't let him if it meant giving up something.

She remembered being jealous of Tommy after he was born. She was used to having her parents' undivided attention, and after her brother was born, she had to share it. She thought Tommy was boring and ugly. He was small and fat, and all he did was cry and poop. She couldn't understand why they thought he was more interesting than her, when she could do so many more things.

Her parents always told her how amazing Tommy was, how cute he was, how incredible his achivements were, even if they were only little things like learning to walk. They never fawned over her achivements like that, even when they were big things like getting a prize at school. They'd just smile and nod, and then go back to what they were doing. They certainly never celebrated it like they did with Tommy.

Michelle almost chuckled at her childish mentality back then. Of course, she knew now they paid more attention to him because he was the cute baby and couldn't express himself like her, but even when she was fifteen and he was eight, her parents pretty much acted the same. They still cooed over Tommy's achievements while ignoring Michelle's and scolded Michelle's behavior while ignoring Tommy's.

The day passed on in the nice, lazy way Mrs. Webster had described. They stuffed themselves with food that would normally make her grimace, but she was eating unapologetically with them today, watched Christmas movies and some non-Christmas ones (all better than A Holly Jolly Holiday, thankfully), and mostly just lazed around doing nothing.

After dinner, Michelle went with her father to Anthony's Antiques. The sky was a pale indigo, showing the start of dusk. It was quite a long walk to the shop. Michelle realized she had never gone there before. If it was this long, she wasn't surprised her mother hadn't liked going there.

When they got there, Michelle could've cried.

It was closed for vacation.

"No!" She couldn't stop the anguished cry that escaped her. She felt like pounding on the Closed for Vacation sign.

Her father was almost as disappointed. "How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I guess it was closed on Christmas?" He slapped a hand to his forehead, shaking his head glumly. "Well, I guess we'll buy the cuckoo– I mean, coffee table another day."

Michelle tugged his sleeve as he started to turn around. "No! We can't go."

"I wanted that clo– coffee table too, Michelle," he agreed. "But there's not much we can do. I mean, what can we? Break the door down and interrogate the owner?"

Just then, the door swung open and a tall, thin man with a brown pencil-thin mustache walked out. He stopped upon seeing Michelle and her father at the door. "Oh, were you two coming?" He had an Italian accent.

"Yes, but I see you're closed," noted Mr. Webster. "We'll be—"

"Can we come in?" Michelle asked suddenly. "Please? We won't take long."

Just as her father looked like he was about to scold her, the man spoke up. "Well, who am I to deny eager customers? Alright. You're lucky you came just now."

Michelle could've cried with relief. So could her father, from the looks of it.

They entered the completely dark store, and the man—Anthony, Michelle's father told her—switched on the lights. "Now, what were you looking for, sir?"

As her father and the store owner started talking, Michelle wandered off, inspecting the various antiques and furniture. It was a very small, cramped store, with all the items stored very close together. It felt like a cluttered attic instead of a shop.

Where was the cuckoo clock? Surely she'd notice something as big. Looking around frantically, she spotted a beak peeking out between two chairs. Pushing one out of the way as quietly as possible, she saw it was the clock.

She paused. What would she do now? Her only plan had been to get to the clock. She hadn't even thought about what to do afterwards. Surely the clock wouldn't have the injury she caused so many years later.

"Michelle?" She froze as she heard her father's voice. No doubt he had seen her. She had to act, and quickly.

Without thinking, she reached for the dials at the top of the clock and started frantically turning them, too panicked to remember which one did what. She was hoping to find the one that brought the bird's head out, though she didn't know why. Maybe because that was what had started this whole mess.

"Michelle, what—"

Michelle yelled and managed to jump backwards just in time as the bird's head shot out. To her surprise, she saw that the head was the wrong way around, like when she had damaged it. She didn't have time to ponder it as she reached her hand out, grasped the head firmly, and twisted it back the right way. Just as she let go, it disappeared back into the clock.

"Michelle—"

She heard her father talking, no doubt lecturing, but she couldn't hear him. All she could hear was the ringing in her ears as she felt her body become lighter and lighter, until it felt like she was floating away...


	14. Chapter 14

Michelle felt like she was in a washing machine. Or a blender. She felt herself being tossed and whirled and twirled. She could see nothing but bright, blinding light, and hear nothing but the roaring in her ears. It had started our slow and calm, like she was floating, but then got faster and faster.

Eventually, it calmed down again. It felt like she was flying now. Flying peacefully through the air, letting the wind be her guide. As light as a feather, without any thoughts, without any cares in the world...

She opened her eyes.

And she was standing in a room full of noise and bustle. She was standing in front of a girl with long brown hair and a green dress. It too her a moment to recognize who it was.

Talia! It had been so long since she had experienced the Christmas party that she had almost forgotten her friend. She was saying something that Michelle wasn't quite listening to. Inwardly, she was bursting with joy. She didn't even care that she had to relive the dreaded party yet again.

"Uh, Shel?" Talia's voice finally took her out of her happiness. "Are you listening to me? I said—"

Michelle couldn't help it. She wrapped Talia into a hug. Talia stumbled backwards, taken aback, before returning it.

"I guess you're really glad to see me," she joked.

"Oh, I am," replied Michelle, pulling back with a huge grin on her face. "I really am."

Talia looked weirded out. "Uh... okay then. We'll open presents later, okay?"

"Okay!" Michelle chirped back. She assessed the living room with a smile. It was exactly how she remembered it. She had never appreciated how stunning the decorations were, how comforting the noise was, how beautiful the music playing sounded. She spotted Tommy playing with his cars under the tree. She was less happy to see him. He'd be back to his terrible eight-year-old self, she had no doubt about it.

Still, even that couldn't put a damper on her happiness. She longed to run out of the room and find a mirror to see her fifteen-year-old self again. Actually, she could do that. And she was going to.

She ran to the door and nearly bumped into a very good-looking boy who entered. She stumbled backwards, feeling her cheeks heating up. No matter how many times she saw Jeffrey, she was never more calm about it.

"H-hey, Jeffrey." She resisted the urge to ask him what she looked like.

"Hey, Michelle. I bought something for you. I was going to give it to you later, but—"

"What is it?" She didn't care if Tommy came by and ruined things. As far as she was concerned, he could tear up her dress like Cinderella's stepsisters and she wouldn't bat an eye.

Jeffrey fished into his bag and pulled out the wrapped tape. Michelle didn't have to feign her excitement this time. It felt like she really was getting it for the first time.

She didn't even say anything when Tommy ran to them. "What did you get, Shel?"

She didn't have a chance to respond before he saw the tape in her hands. "Cool! What songs are on there?"

"Coldplay," she replied. "You probably haven't heard of them."

"Can I listen to it later?" he asked excitedly.

"Uh... sure," she replied hesitantly. Tommy had never taken an interest in her music before.

Tommy's face lit up. "Thanks!" Then he noticed Jeffrey, and the dreaded question came. "Did your boyfriend get it for you?"

She didn't even feel embarrassed, though Jeffrey clearly was. He blushed as Tommy stared at Michelle like he was expecting an answer.

"He's not my boyfriend," she replied casually. _I wish_, she thought.

Tommy looked confused. "Really? I thought he was. You're always talking about him."

Michelle laughed. "I guess I am," she replied.

At this point, Jeffrey had disappeared, handing out gifts to his friends. Tommy seemed to notice at the same time Michelle did. "Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to make him leave."

Michelle was confused. Eight-year-old Tommy never apologized for anyone. "Oh, uh... it's fine."

"Look what I got." Tommy tugged at Michelle's arm, dragging her to the tree. Along the way, she tripped over, landing on the floor with a squeal and thrusting her hands out to break her fall.

Tommy turned around and laughed upon seeing her sprawled on the floor. Then he reached out a hand and she accepted it as he helped her up. "Sorry," he said, giggling.

Under the tree, he showed her his new toy cars, telling her the names he had already given them and asking—more like forcing—her to play with him. She found herself letting Tommy's car win in races and destroy hers in car crashss.

When it was time to open presents, Tommy came up to her while she was holding her Harry Potter collection. "Can you read it to me when we get home?"

She was surprised he asked. He asked it as if they regularly read together. Like they had done on the day of the Christmas pageant.

"Uh, of course," she replied.

"Can you read it now?" Tommy persisted.

"I don't know..."

"Please?" He turned his puppy dog eyes on her. She forgot he used them at eight too. She couldn't blame her parents for giving in to him so much if he used that tactic on them. "I want to know what Harry's third year is like."

He said it like he had read the first two books. "Oh, fine," she replied, secretly excited. It was a nice change reading to someone instead of reading them herself. "But it's too loud in here."

"We can do it somewhere else," suggested Tommy.

Soon they were in the kitchen, Michelle on a high stool and Tommy on a lower one, as she read The Prisoner of Azkaban to him. She quickly realized he had indeed read the first two. She must've read them to him, even though she knew she never let him near her books. He talked about which parts and characters he liked and disliked about the other books before she started. He was almost as passionate about the series as she was.

She stopped after the first chapter, promising him she'd read more when they got home. She remembered to give Talia, Max and Lola their gifts and kept her new jacket in her big bag. When Tommy asked to try it on, she refused.

"It probably won't fit you, anyway," she added.

He pouted. "You let me try your other clothes on."

Michelle was confused. She knew she didn't. She was very serious about her clothes, keeping them in pristine condition and refusing to let anyone try them on, especially not Tommy. He had often ruined her clothes trying to steal them.

"This one's new," she explained. "I want to try it first, when we get home."

He pouted again, but left. Michelle decided to relax and watch the movie playing. She was spread out on the rug in front of the television, a plate of cake next to her. She yelped as she felt something cold and wet on her back, rolling over and yelping again as she realized she had rolled onto the cake.

She stood up as Tommy giggled, a paper cup with the cold liquid in his hand. "Tommy!" she groaned, immediately reaching for her handbag. "Why did you do that?"

"It was an accident!" His claim was belied by the giggling fit immediately afterwards. Michelle rolled her eyes. Even though Tommy seemed a bit nicer in this party, he was still a brat.

She wiped herself off as best as possible and watched the movie standing up. Soon her parents called her to the guest room to show her and Tommy their presents. She slipped her new phone into her handbag as she watched Tommy ravenously open all his presents.

Eventually, he came up to her. "Shel, where's your phone? I wanna take a picture, like you showed me!"

Like she showed him? She never let him touch her phone.

"I don't know..." She discreetly tried to hide her handbag behind her back.

"Michelle, let him," urged her mother. "It's a good chance for him to practice what you showed him, after all."

"I... fine." Very confused, Michelle reluctantly reached into her handbag and even more reluctantly handed Tommy the phone. He eagerly instructed his family to huddle together before he took a picture.

As soon as the flash went off, Michelle hurried forward and snatched the phone from him. It was a rather decent picture, though she still couldn't wrap her mind around willingly teaching Tommy to use her phone.

After they left the party, Michelle thinked things through while they were in the car. Tommy acted as if she read to him, let him try on her clothes, and taught him how to use her phone...

Like she was nice to him.

Maybe it was the cuckoo clock's magic. Maybe this was a different timeline where Michelle spent more time with Tommy, and Tommy wasn't as much of a pest as a result. Maybe it wasn't just her parents who caused his bratty behavior, but her as well, and how he acted at eight was partly because of how she had brushed him off throughout the years,

Well, this time around, she sought to be a better sister. And it seemed that in return, he'd be a better brother.

"Shel!" He poked her in the side and kicked her leg, and when she turned to him, he said, "I spy with my little eye, something beginning with M."

Michelle sighed. "Let me guess. Moron?"

Tommy paused. "Close. It's actually moronic Michelle." He burst out laughing.

Well, he might not be quite as awful as she thought, but he was still a little brother.


End file.
